When You Need to Go Back to Your Roots 🍂

Staying rooted and grounded in tough times.

Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
    whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
    that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
    its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
    and never fails to bear fruit.
Jeremiah 17:7-8
 
If you’ve been here for a while, you’ll know that I have a strong affinity with trees. They speak to me about our connection with God, with each other and with the earth. Trees seem especially prominent during Autumn – the liminal season where we’ve left behind the long, warm days of summer, but have not yet arrived in the full-on deep freeze of winter. There’s much I love about autumn. I relish the start of a new school year after a summer of relaxation. I love the crisp, damp smell in the air, the chance to wear my wellies and the low rays of sun that turn everything golden in the late afternoon. But most of all, I love the colours of the leaves. The deep red, golden and orange tones fill my soul like nothing else, and always call to mind the truth of Gerard Manley Hopkins’ famous lines:
 
The world is charged with grandeur of God;
      It will flame out like shining from shook foil.
 
But being betwixt and between the seasons is uncomfortable too. The weather becomes even more unpredictable than usual on these British Isles. I worry about being cold and end up sweating inside my winter coat. I think it’s going to be warm and find myself in shock and soaked through by a sudden freezing downpour. Light that is golden one moment becomes quickly obscured by cloud the next. Leaves that grace branches with beauty in the morning are trampled into the ground and forgotten by the afternoon.
 
It seems like we are in an extended season of uncertainty right now. Nothing is fixed or foreseeable. The rhythms, routines and relationships that once held us together have, in many ways, changed beyond all recognition. The church family we belong to seems disconnected and disjointed as we can only meet online. The relationship we thought would last has dissolved. The way we work requires a completely different skill set to what we’re trained or experienced in. We’re never quite sure what the emotional temperature will be next and it’s exhausting, overwhelming and anxiety-inducing to live in such a precarious environment.
 
But as Hopkins’ poem continues:
 
And for all this, nature is never spent;
     There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
 
Trees are our great reminder that ‘nature is never spent.’ Above the surface, they react to their environment. They grow, change colour, shed their leaves or lie dormant according to the season: it’s a healthy response to what’s happening around them. But deep underground, trees are firmly rooted into the earth, soaking up goodness and strength no matter the season above.
 
This season of life has threatened to uproot me in many ways. I’ve lost my home, lost a relationship, lost my in-person church community. I’ve lost the opportunity to hang out with friends and hug them. I’m working under the constant threat of having to teach online at a moment’s notice, which is difficult and stressful, while trying to catch up children who have missed months of their schooling. I'm sure that you are familiar with loss in this season too, though your details might be different from mine. 
 
But I’ve found that below the surface of my grief and bewilderment, I am strong and stable, able to draw nourishment and soak up goodness from the layers of beauty and truth that have been established over many seasons. I’ve found that though it is healthy to respond in appropriate ways to both my own suffering and the suffering of the world, it cannot separate me from God’s love, in which I am firmly rooted and held. I’ve found that when I fall apart, God is still holding me, still calling me his beloved child, still nurturing me with kindness and patience, still reminding me that seasons don’t last forever, and spring, with all its outward growth is only possible because the earth has been enriched by autumn’s fallen leaves.
 
Hopkins’ poem finishes by helping us look towards the dawning of a new day:
 
And though the last lights off the black West went
      Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
       World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
 
Though there is darkness, it does not last forever. Though there is no glimmer of hope on the horizon just yet, night will not last. Though there is chaos, peace is still found in the tender, fierce embrace of the Holy Spirit who is with us in it all, comforting, sustaining and strengthening us, rooting and grounding us in the tangible love of God, who never leaves us and never forsakes us, not even for a moment.

What I'm Reading

Crow Investigations Series, by Sarah Painter - a magical detective series which makes for easy bedtime reading. Interesting enough to keep me reading, light enough that I can still fall asleep! Thanks to my friend Andi for the recommend.

Daring Greatly, by Brene Brown - rereading a favourite at a time when I need the reminder the being vulnerable is brave and courageous, and worth doing, even though it's hard and doesn't always have the ending we hope for. 

Mixed Blessings, by Barbara Brown Taylor - a book of well-crafted, thoughtful and beautifully written sermons - brilliant, as is everything Taylor writers.

The Uncontrolling Love of God, by Thomas Jay Oord - I've just started this one, and I'm liking it so far - will let you know more once I've finished it! 

And finally...

Thank you so much for being here! I love hearing from you, so just leave a comment if you want to get in touch.

And if you know anyone who would like to receive this email monthly, press the share button below.

Staying rooted and grounded in love,
Abby