Monday in the Second Week of Lent
I am bound by the vow I made to you, O God;
I will present to you thank-offerings.
My friend notices the tree first, “Look at those roots, they are amazing.” And indeed they are.
Strong, bold, and substantial, they undulate rather than twist their way from trunk into ground leaving the firmness of their support in no doubt. I know nothing of the life of this tree, but I imagine the roots as ancient and I think of all that they have seen: sun, storms, wind, seasonal shifts, foundational upheavals, long stretches of hardly any change at all.
I have been thinking of roots a lot lately, of my own mostly. Of how I am connected to my past, of the strength to be found there, of the stories to be told if I were to trace the curving lines back to their source. And of my certainty that even if some of those pathways wend their way past decay and disappointment, that the gnarled lines attest to the triumph of love. Because vows made on my behalf and those I have uttered on my own bind me to the Source of all creation.
Because I am bound in love, I am able to stand tall this morning, lift my face to the light, and open my mouth in thanksgiving.