Roots, branches, and falling leaves.

Roots

I’ve been aware of a definite pull to go deeper, to go back even, to my roots: to the stories I love, to the doctrine I know, to the traditions that have supported, guided, and strengthened me throughout the years; but more, to reclaim them for my own. Roots are stable, sturdy, and buried beneath what we can be seen. What happens on the surface then, can bend and stretch because what grounds and supports is secure, nourishing, and dependable.

As this pull has been felt, I have been writing. A LOT. I have had the privilege of being part of the Summer Tribe at Roots of She. 10 unique pieces crafted over three months – each speaking to my roots, to those that women share, to ways in which our deepest selves can be even stronger, even sturdier, even more…no matter the winds that blow, the seasons that change.  I’d love for you to read them – perhaps as liturgy, perhaps as prayer, perhaps as flint for fiery, sacred space.

Branches

I have been reminded – gently, profoundly, and repeatedly – of how significant and sap-rich are the people with whom I’m connected; like the sweetest of syrup that flows through infinite, interconnected branches. There is a larger ecosystem at work – an interdependence that is not always seen, but is critical to understand and respect. And oh, how I respect and honor it. I bow down. I breathe prayers of gratitude. I sacrifice on its altar. The beauty of relationships, the friendships that surround, the laughter that cascades, the smiles that touch, the tears that flow, the souls that see-and-hear-and-stay. Branches, one and all. You know who you are.

Falling leaves

Gorgeous color. Undeniable exits. Small deaths. And big ones. Things that naturally (and sometimes unnaturally) have come to an end. Actual deaths: premature, unnatural, even harsh. And figurative deaths: unhelpful self-talk, unproductive fears, unrealistic expectations, unhealthy relationships, even unsubscribes. I have resisted many of these…so deep my own proclivities and pathology. Others resisted because the loss has felt too overwhelming, too unjust, too unreasonable. Still, leaves fall, seasons turn, and life continues – un-asked, un-bidden, undisturbed, undaunted, unbelievable.

Roots, branches, and falling leaves. The turning of seasons. Endless change. And me – tangled and tumbling in it all. Ever grounded in truths that nurture and strengthen, ever supported and expanded by those who love and support, ever accompanied by things (and people) that come to an end. The stuff of new life, new faith, new hope. Endless grace.

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3

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