A Tree in Winter Stands

A tree in winter stands.  That is all it can do.  Gone are the flourishing leaves, the bejeweling birds, and the warm yellow sun.  Left is barrenness, nakedness and sluggish sap that moves little, if at all.  It stands in air that is an blue-cold enemy, piercing, and uninviting.  

A tree in winter stands.  There is no life growing energy to exert, just roots that cling to cold soil, hoping their hold is enough to brace against the next frosty storm.  Even the blanket of moss that covers the trunk abandons it as it falls off in rough, icy pieces.

A tree in winter stands.  It stands in the cold shadows cast by the low sun.  Its extended arms reach longingly for a warmth that does not come.  It cannot hide its undressed limbs, nor wrap those appendages around its body for modesty or protection.

No...a tree in winter stands.  And that is all it can do.  It has no bounty to give the world around it - no shade, no fruit, no beauty.  It only stands - waiting, longing, hoping - while the onslaught of winter weather is relentless.  

But in its standing months, it learns to be unmovable and anchored.  It also learns the opposite: to be flexible - dancing with the prevailing winds.  It learns what great vanity there is in holding on to its adornments and so will be grateful instead of prideful when its leaves return.  It learns that cold and snow, ice and freezing temperatures are inevitable and can be endured. And though it stands in shade, it knows that there must be light somewhere to create that deep shadow.

Within the winter-stand, the tree learns who it really is.  One called to be deeply rooted, strong and upright, with branches reaching high into the sky.  With all else stripped away, it can unashamedly embrace its calling.  When all the flourishes return and it becomes useful again, it is grateful, but does not mistake its outward appearance or its utility for its core vocation.

A tree in winter stands.  That is all it can do.  And its Creator smiles as the tree begins to understand that truth.  

(Sometimes, I think I might just be a tree.  How about you?)