Rooted

My twenties have only just begun and yet they have already been a defining period of my life. I fell in love, had my heart broken, got my first speeding ticket, signed my first lease, found my first job, graduated from college and started fresh. By your mid-twenties you should be capable of taking care of your own place (be it apartment, house or cardboard box), you should know what music you truly like, be able to eat alone, buy an outfit without needing a second opinion, and have the self-control to say, no, when yes just isn’t an option.

It is a time for drifting and discovering. Most friends that I keep in touch with lament about the same feeling of unmapped wandering. We don’t quite know where we are headed, but we do know where we have been. A brick wall lingers slightly above my head, threatening to rock my world, when I allow my thoughts to stray towards the future.

On a recent work outing I learned more about Cypress trees than I bargained for. Ziplining high above the ravines of the Hill Country, our harness-clad guide explained the secret behind the success of the Cypress. As these giants grow taller, a creature begins to eat away a tunnel system within the confines of the trees trunk, which grants the tree flexibility and other positive adaptations otherwise unknown to the species. Without this symbiotic relationship, neither would be as strong as they are now. Both pour into the other, bringing life to the partnership. If nothing were being taken out of the tree, its rigidity would lead inevitably to destruction.

Have we become so accustomed to our roots that we are unable to bend when the wind blows everything its got?

Stability is the least important thing that roots provide to the trees that line the river I jog beside on my evening outings. These tendrils traverse cement and stairs, creep down bridges, and drill deep into the unbreakable earth unhindered by drought or man, all in search of nutrients. The foundation laid is a by-product of the tree’s need for life-sustaining elements. These trees watch my progress as each step takes me closer to my destination. They are less selfish than I am, providing comfort from the sahara-like sun…and the very air that I am currently gasping in quantities that make the tourists stare.

 It would be naïve to believe that God didn’t create this parallel for a reason.

No tree ever survived that had one fat root attempting to harvest the water needed for the entire tree. It outlasts the seasons by spreading itself out, seeking vitalization from multiple sources, branching out in all directions. When a seed buds, not only does it send a sprout upward, it also sends its first root down, called the ‘radicle’. Fitting. The radicle is the plant’s anchor, from it sprouts root hairs that are responsible for absorbing water to sustain the plant.

It is easy to bunker down with a few choice relationships, post-apocalyptic style, stock-piling mysterious canned meats and veggies, never needing to step out into the streets or talk to a stranger. Even easier to convince yourself that those relationships are about the people in them, a lie I have told so many times, I actually believe it. Each relationship God placed in my life is a direct result of the radical love from which it sprouted.

My stability can come only from the Prince of Peace that grounds me through love and justice, loaning me some of his most beautiful creations to commune with as we journey down this path of life. No loan will ever be as sweet as the shoulder I can cry on and the arms that wrap themselves around me, allowing me to leach the nutrients from their God-filled souls.

People enter and exit your life in rapid succession, each relationship just another stem of your radicle, there to nourish one another during your time together. From the prayer-warrior taking my deepest wounds to the throne, to the evening shift worker at the locks and dam, letting the river taxis through, who willingly offers a smile, a towel to wipe the embarrassingly large amount of sweat from my face, and the air-conditioning of his small kiosk atop the dam to me when my mind out-jogged my physique, each encounter used by God to love me in such intimate ways.

I offer you no advice, simply an account of God’s ceaseless work in my life. May your radicle be rooted in the richness of His word, digging ever deeper towards the I Am. May your nourishment be a two-way street, never selfish. May the love you receive be poured out on those around you and may the trials in your life serve only to make you more flexible for those yet to come.