Saturday, 20 April 2013

brokenness and new life





I don't know why broken trees make me feel so sad. I guess I think about all of the years it took them to grow. Our ice storm, exactly one week ago, wreaked havoc on our trees. Some suffered minimal damage - a branch here, a limb there. Others, majestic, old trees, were split down the middle of their trunks.

I told my dad how it made me feel to see the trees on the farm broken like that. He just looked at me, hazel-green eyes calm, and said, "I just think it's nature's way of encouraging new growth."

Through my tears several weeks ago, my mom took me on a walk through the woods on the farm, and showed me little shoots growing up from the ground. It was this same idea: bright new green growing from soggy brown composting leaves.

Now, I'm not going to go looking for reasons to be broken. But when it comes, I can see this is what it does: makes a painful break, and then, after time, cracks open your heart to new life. Makes beauty from brokenness.

1 comment:

  1. Your parents are so calm and wise. I love what your dad said.
    I also was witness to a wise moment between Zoe and your mom just after the funeral was over. Zoe was really crying, and your mom calmly, strongly and warmly went over in front of her and told her the story of another death when you were a child (or her? I was caught up in the moment and didn't catch who it was) Anyhow she said something to the effect of "Rebecca was older so that she could understand and feel the pain of the death, and wished she didn't have to understand it like she did, and just take it lightly like her siblings, but then later she reflected that was a very rich memory and life experience for her"

    I sort of just mangled what she said because it was far more eloquent and simple, but it really seemed to sink into Zoe.
    You have some special parents.

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