Leslie A Lamb/Sifted Wheat

Tag: growth

  • How can a tree so big fall?


    That’s immediately what we thought when we got the picture from my mom. A tree that had been faithfully standing guard over their home for a century, was toppled by a strong gust of wind – not a storm, not a tornado, but the strength of a direct wind. 

    As I walked the wreckage, and thanked God for its fateful shift that missed the house by mere feet, I considered its substance. The trunk was massive, but as I inspected the roots, they weren’t as thick as I would have thought or as long as I would have expected. In fact, surprisingly, the hole left, though large, wasn’t as massive as the tree that was rooted there. Sure, there is some water to drain out, but in short time, earth will refill the spot left vacant by generations of occupation. 

    As I walked around the corpse of the tree, I noticed it had leaves and the evidence of life and death. In season it had flowered and bore fruit, but the source of its strength and stability had not reached its potential, subjecting it to upheaval. 

    I thought of myself, of my faith, of my identity as an “oak of righteousness.” Are my roots going deep, are they spreading beyond what I am producing? Is the only evidence of stability on the outside while deep down there is shallow depth and spindly faith? 

    In that moment of reflection, I remembered my dad telling me about Redwood trees – a beautiful reminder of his life in California before the great storm of his life shifted an 8 year old boy into a bread winner and man of the family. You see, redwoods are massive, fortified and towering for centuries. And they have a root system that is unparalleled in the plant kingdom – their roots don’t just go down deep, but they branch out and reach for the roots of the trees around them and intertwined to fortify their strength. There cannot be a lone redwood, they are always found in close proximity. They also have this fortified wood that though it is soft, is resistant to pests and corrosion and is ideal for construction. 

    I heard God whisper, “Be a redwood.” 

    “Go down deep in My love.

    Reach out for others and hold one another up.

    Stay connected to others like you.

    Grow tall and resilient. 

    Resist what seeks to attack and corrupt you. 

    Bring stability to others by what you produce. 

    Be soft where others are hard.”

    This is me reaching out, seeking the roots of those longing to endure. Entwining with those who have been sifted so we might remain and resist the winds of change and hold fast in the midst of adversity. 

    My mom’s oak will soon be cleaned up. Just an impression on the ground until time fills it in. And, it hasn’t been lost on me that all that is left will be used for firewood. 

  • Waist Deep

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    It’s that moment.

    I’m standing waist high in the ocean..mere feet from shore, with my feet planted. For the longest moment I stand, face lifted upwards, the glow of the sun feeding my weary soul. I could stay here forever, basking in the peace of its rays, but just as I get comfortable, inhaling the ocean scent as I watch the gulls lite upon the shore, I hear the roar rising up behind me, the crash of the crest of the wave as it barrels toward me, and in that moment, I have a choice – dig my feet in the sand and brace for the impact or run.

    Somehow I know if I move I will be overtaken, sucked under, swept up in the mighty wave never to find that spot on the ocean floor again. The sound of the crested wave crashes toward me, and I stand still, arms outstretched, legs locked, awaiting the connection of body of water and body of soul.

    I’m unprepared for the fullness of the tumult, but my feet stand firm, refusing my knees the freedom to buckle. As the wave pushes me forward I find the strength to push back, against it’s current, against the pull to push me forward and back toward the shoreline I worked hard to get past. I close my eyes as the wave personified fist pummels my back, challenging my position, doing it’s best to defy my resolve.

    If I’m honest, it hurts.

    I think within my mind that is made of mere common sense that I could be safely on the shore riding this wave instead of fighting it, but the Voice that echoes peaceful “stand still” assures my mind that isn’t bound by fear that the best is yet to come.

    All at once the wave breaks completely, stillness once again flows, and shaking the wet assault from my hair and face, I open my eyes. The sun still shines bright, the advance of the Oceans arms around me never blocked it’s rays, only my feeling of them, and the Voice that held me firm, beckons, “Deeper.” And I find my footing gained and take a step forward before the next strong current has me again longing to run back to shore. Because though the shore may be safe, life is found in the wrestle with the waves.

    Psalm 93:3-4
    “The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their roaring. Mightier than the thunders of many waters, mightier than the waves of the sea, the Lord on high is mighty!”

  • Lessons Maddie has taught me

    Twelve years ago yesterday, I held the most precious, wide eyed, soft skinned little baby my eyes had ever beheld! The next day, after the labor pains and still exhausted, my lessons began. The hard knocks of parenting were leveled at me. I got my first taste of judgement and learned the hard truth that I will mess up, and I won’t do everything just right. I learned that parenting is hard work and requires diligence and attentiveness. I realized that it hurts you when they are hurting and how much of a failure one mistake will make you feel and that emotions can rise and fall hourly with the mood or well-being of your child.

    I also learned that what I knew of “love” was insignificant in comparison to what I felt for my sweet sleeping daughter in my arms. I learned that for someone that had grown up feeling used for her body, my child using me was entirely different. I realized that her dependence on me was necessary and that no matter what I felt or what I wanted, she had to come first. I learned the value of uninterrupted sleep.

    I’m still learning.. And messing up.

    And, in my failures I am becoming a better parent. I’m learning that it’s best to just say no than to say yes and regret your answer and have to go back and set higher standards. (A lesson one can only learn through the struggle of mistake.) I’m learning that they grow up way too fast, that the phrase, “you’ll blink and she will be grown,” isn’t an old wives tale but a literal blink in time. I’m learning not to rush the moments, not to hurry their independence, and to take every moment to pour into their hearts the love that only a parent can have for their child.

    I’m learning the importance of faith and the wisdom that it brings. I’m seeing through her childlike faith that relationship with God is a journey and doesn’t just happen over night or because I desire it. I’ve had to learn that just because I am tired or sick or impatient doesn’t give me a right to take it out on my kids… and that God will correct us if we mistreat them. I’m learning that it is less what she hears about Christ and more about what she sees in me, a Christ Lover. I’m realizing that as much as I long to see her fall in love with her Savior, I can’t force it. And I’m sadly seeing that as much as I would like to prevent any fear or doubt or pain from breaking her heart, it’s that struggle that will make her stronger.

    I’m still learning… And I’m only 12 years into a forever life as her mom and 10 years in as the mom of her sister.

    It’s not easy …But, my Teacher hasn’t let any of us out of His sight.