A few years ago I purchased a house that was a fixer-upper. At that time I didn’t know how much of a fixer-upper it was, but what I did know was how much of a near hopeless fixer-upper my own life was. I had just gone through a tragic and unexpected loss, and I needed a place to start a new life. I needed to grieve. I needed hope, and I needed a future. I had seen too much death, wiped too many tears, and felt too great of pain.
And so it was, I stumbled across the fixer-upper house that seemed to have my name all over it. It was a mess, kinda like me. I didn’t realize at the time that the wealthy neighbor behind me had planned to buy the house and tear it down to expand his own personal estate (perhaps that was similar to what the enemy had planned for my life). As I locked myself into the purchase of the fixer-upper, I started down a new journey of restoration.
As I took on projects to fix up the place, I eventually made it to the landscape. Ugh. It was a mess. It was in disrepair, overgrown, thriving with noxious weeds, and in desperate need of starting with a brand new clean slate. So, I told the excavator to bulldoze everything, level out the ground, and make sure to rip it all out. Wait, *almost* everything.
There was a struggling, sickly weeping cherry tree in the middle of the yard that everyone said needed to go. It was probably close to my age, and covered with dying branches, moss, and only a few leaves. It looked like I felt. Somehow it seemed to paint the picture of the inner me, and so I just couldn’t tear it out. I couldn’t write it’s death sentence when there was still a flicker of life in it, just like I didn’t want people around me to write me off as I struggled through my journey of healing and grasping for life. Now and then a hummingbird would sit on a branch and chirp at me, as if to tell me not to give up.
When I told the excavator to rip out everything, level the ground, and prepare the entire property for the brand new redesigned landscaping, I also adamantly told him to leave the floundering, struggling tree. He tried to convince me to rip it out. But I defended it. He explained how the tree was going to die and it would cost me a lot more to rip it out later. But, I saw a flicker of life, and I grasped on to hope. I defended the sickly thing and made him work around it.
Then along came the landscaper. Again I had to defend the tree that everyone said was a hopeless cause. Later came the neighbors, the self-acclaimed experts, and the unsolicited advisors. Some suggested a big delicious fruit tree would be so much better for everyone, while others painted a rather convincing picture of replacing the sickly tree with a meaningful olive tree. But the weeping cherry tree still had a few leaves. And, where there is a flicker of life there is still hope. And so it was that I defended the struggling tree like it was my own life. Perhaps metaphorically it was.
Weeks morphed into months, and time passed along. I fought for the tree while I fought for healing, hope, and my own new life. I gave the tree nutrients and protection; while family, friends, and even strangers, gave me nutrients of encouragement, prayed for me, and regularly affirmed that they were fighting for me. While I put protecting borders around my struggling tree, God put protecting borders around me.
Time marches on, and people say that time heals. I disagree. Time doesn’t heal, but it is the path to healing. It allows us to heal if we choose to leverage the Christ-provided spiritual nutrients around us. Through our choice to grow in God’s Word we are protected from the setbacks that want to take us down. It is the journey where God can heal and restore.
It’s been three years since I decided to defend and protect the weeping cherry tree and give it another chance. It’s been three years of healing and restoration for both of us.
Bright and early today I stepped outside to inhale the fresh air. As I took in the fragrance of the morning, I soaked in the beauty around me. As I stood gazing across the open river valley, my attention was suddenly drawn to the weeping cheery tree right in front of me. I was taken back by what I saw. I suddenly realized that the once sickly struggling tree was now actually a thriving, gorgeous weeping cherry tree covered with lovely draping branches that were gracing, embracing, and embodying the elegance of true beauty. Oh wow! The weeping cherry tree had transformed so subtly before my eyes that I had failed to recognize the amazing transformation that had taken place.
I walked over to the tree and touched a branch, a leaf, and then another one, and another. The weeping cherry tree really was thriving. Sure it had some scars, and it was still healing in places; but it was amazing. The dying tree that once was written off by many was now completely changed. It was more than a survivor; it was a recreated, reinvigorated, revived, thriving weeping cherry tree.
As I stood there pondering the change that had morphed in front me yet I had missed, I thought of my own journey. Have I thrived? Have I been restored? Am I reinvigorated? What new fruit and life am I producing? Have I been transformed ever so subtly in God’s hands and Christ’s plan on this journey in time that I’ve not even realized the reviving I’ve gone through?
I pray I am new and renewed in Him; and I pray that I may produce new leaves and fruit for Him.
He never gives up on us, even when we might be struggling and giving up on ourselves. He is faithful. He makes all things beautiful in time; and, where there is a flicker of life, there is a flicker of hope.
Then, where there is a flicker of hope it is a seed of faith. And with faith, all things are possible through God.
Beautiful In Time 