鈥淪ink your roots in him (Christ) and build on him.鈥� Colossians 2:7 instructs, adding, 鈥淏e strengthened by the faith that you were taught, and overflow with thanksgiving.鈥�
I have a fresh appreciation for roots. It started with the tree out back....
The earth shook and the power lines twanged. The big pine had finally landed. Safely, too, without damaging the power lines, fence or other trees. Not even the tiny mock orange bush, just beyond reach of the pine鈥檚 still flailing limbs.
Cheers came from the roof, where stood a friend with a chainsaw and our grandson. I peered through the branches of the downed giant at our son-in-law, Kendall, still holding the ropes that had guided its descent. 鈥淣ICE landing!鈥�
He grinned, glancing at the vibrating power line above. A branch had brushed it on the way down. 鈥淕lad that didn鈥檛 break!鈥�
When the house was built, it must have seemed right to plant a pine and a cedar within three feet of its foundation. But forty years on, both towered over the house. When the Preacher and I bought the place, the cedar was dying, but the still thriving pine had several trunks, with a total girth of about a metre. We relished the shade, but its broad limbs disturbed shingles and eavestroughs and scattered cones and needles over a wide radius.
鈥淲e鈥檝e gotta take them out,鈥� I told the Preacher. He sighed, knowing his favourite reading corner would lose its shelter.
The men hauled the trees away, and most of the stumps. But since we planned an on-ground deck, the roots needed to be dug out below the ground. Kendall attacked the largest with his chainsaw, but it proved hard as iron. 鈥淢om,鈥� he told me, after several sweaty efforts and dulled chains. 鈥淵ou couldn鈥檛 PAY me enough to take this out.鈥� Others tried too, but the tree鈥檚 foundation proved impervious to saws and axes, no matter who wielded them.
鈥淟et鈥檚 call an expert,鈥� I said.
鈥淣o,鈥� said the Preacher. 鈥淚鈥檒l putz at it.鈥� He dug around the roots to bare them, then, using the largest drill bit he could find, he riddled their surfaces with holes. When they resembled Swiss cheese, he sliced across the holes with his reciprocating saw. Then he started in on another layer of stump.
It took weeks. He worked in short spurts, until his strength faded (or his bit or blade broke, whichever came first). But finally, except for a carpet of woodchips, not a trace remained of the protruding roots.
I鈥檝e pondered on that pine ever since. On its continual growth, its hospitable branches and lovely silhouette. How it stayed strong in spite of nature鈥檚 onslaughts (including one tornado, before our time). How it had provided shelter to us and many birds. How its gracious life seemed a benediction of thanksgiving to its (and my) Creator. But all because of its invisible, deeply embedded, granite-hard roots.聽聽 Lord, may we sink our roots deeply in you. And let our gratitude overflow.
