“Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
Whose trust is the LORD.
He is like a tree planted by water,
That sends out its roots by the stream,
And does not fear when heat comes,
For its leaves remain green,
And is not anxious in the year of drought,
For it does not cease to bear fruit.”
Jeremiah 17:7-8 ESV
All flesh is grass,
Our glory its flower—
Ephemeral as Texas bluebonnets
Or Washington cherry blossoms
Or Colorado aspens shimmering gold—
Fifteen minutes of flowered effulgence
Then petals drift on footpaths,
Float away on the breeze;
Gold leaves mound and dry
Until raked away or decomposed,
Dust to dust returned.
Without Goldilocks heat and moisture,
Summer and winter and seedtime and harvest,
They may not even display
A blink of glory.
The blessing of bluebonnets, however beautiful,
Is a frail and feeble thing,
Dependent on so much to go just right
To flood the pastures,
Fill the horizon,
With perhaps—what?—
A hundred hours of blue
Or blush or gilt.
That same frail withering flesh,
When filled with faith in the Lord,
Trust which is the Lord,
Has strength and substance
Like a tree rising upward.
Trunk thickening outward,
Roots branching downward,
Downward and downward,
Outward and outward
To the water table.
To the river,
To rain-soaked surface soil,
Sustained by springs
Lesser plants know not of,
Springs slaking thirst unceasingly.
Let the winds blow;
Its roots are deep and deeper still.
Let the sun scorch;
Its leaves will verdant be.
Let drought wither grasses
And field flowers;
Water may gush from granite
That tree of trust stand tall,
Limbs outstretched, upraised.
It dwells in rich good soil
Which carries living water
Into perennial fruitfulness,
Foretaste of the harvest of New Jerusalem.
