roots

she is

beautiful branches dripping with glossy leaves

boasting blooming flowers

bowed low with the weight of her beauty

serene and still, glowing softy in morning springtime sun

no hint of the rot that lies beneath,

creeping even now up the trunk of this so praised tree

but it comes

silently stealing the sweet water that would nourish those frail roots

all while slyly, oh so cunningly praising the outward beauty

product of a hidden brokenness

and her neighbors? they flock to see the display!

utterly in awe of such charming little buds and delicate fragrance

secretly wishing to be so lovely

hoping against hope that none will know of the rot that lies within their bones

wishing to be so true as this one divine wonder

never wilting, ever budding

forgetting what it is to thrive in the unending pursuit of what is perceived

the graceful, lovely tree begins to wither under the weight of her own exhaustive pretense

she feels the ache within, but

none can know. she sees they do not struggle

ever fruitful never fading always in season with their song

no. She must hide. She must be grafted into one of those stronger ones

Her own root, which has gone deep,

has no grip on the soil which might have brought life

But as she bows lower and lower still, appearing to be graceful but so dry her branches groan and snap

she sees

roots

thick, gnarly roots of tall pines and oaks are intertwined

those trees that she has always despised

how could they thrive? standing so tall and ordinary,

unchanging with the times,

wearing scars that show their age and the storms that have shaped them?

could it be that they are more alive than she?

and from this low place, bent nearly upside down, dizzy with the weight of her own pride

she sees

roots

the mass of them, stretching across a whole forest

strengthening the grove

patiently

lovingly

together nourishing one another by sharing in their weight

for this network of roots does require something of its members

and this vulnerability exposes the weariness and age within

the struggle and scar and fear and ache of life lived in a not-yet world

but these groans for a new kingdom are sung together

and

so it comes

by these roots

waving wildly in the upside-down hope of a new reality

where none need hide

and grace breathes life