For the Lord knows whereof we are made;
and remembers that we are but dust.
|Anne E. Kitch|
Lately I have been meditating on roots. And for months I have been painting and drawing my prayers. First I painted the roots we see above the ground. Then I thought of all the roots we cannot see. Intricate patterns reaching deep into the earth, down and down, stretching for…what? Water, minerals, nourishment? What sustenance lies in that buried darkness?
What about my own roots? Where do the tendrils of my soul reach?
The road I walk often leads me into dark places. Today I remember that in the darkness of the earth, under the press of soil, in a place where light and air are scarce, life continues. And is tenacious.
I am ready. I am ready to follow Jesus into the wilderness. I am prepared as I ever will be to examine my faithlessness and ask God to lay my soul bare. I am ready to be marked as dust.
Rooted in dust. Rooted in ashes. Rooted in love.