Deep Roots

“Deep roots are not withered by the frost,” he says. Deep roots, deep, planted, dug in and stable. Deep roots, not seen by our casual observations. Deep roots acting as anchor and foundation, holding the toppling plant upright. Deep roots, anchoring the trees during the gales of wind. Deep roots, providing moisture and nourishment even when the frost sinks into the dirt and seeps below the top soil.

“I am the vine, you are the branches.” The vine, the roots, the trunk, the security and stability of the branches come from the vine. Being a living branch reliant on the vine, my roots are deep and protected from the frost.

What kind of frosts do I face? What kind of frosts do we all face? We all have difficult times, tiredness, loneliness, pressures, stresses. There are some times when these frosts are piled on top of each other, one wave of ice and then another. The frosts pile up and it may seem that spring will never come. Then, finally sun breaks through with warmth, the ice starts melting, and the ground thaws. The plants can then be seen, is it living, did it make it through the winter? What a joy it is to see the leaves come out – to see that there is growth after times of difficulty, life after wintry ice.

Seasons Strung Together

Every year, when I start thinking about the approach of spring, I find myself turning to a favorite author, J.R.R. Tolkien.  The words that he wrote somehow seem to help me find the patience that I will need in a few months as winter lingers and spring dawdles in its approach.

His writings strung together many chapters, characters, locations, and plot lines into multiple books to tell one story.  Each one has a part to play, and from those words I have to admit I find something new every time.  Today, these words struck me…

“‘And it is not our part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one.’”

There is wisdom here that I just love.  Things get hard and it is so tempting sometimes to aim for a quick fix.  Slap a little duct tape on that baby and let’s just keep on moving.  For instance, I had a menace of my own in my life, a menace of fear.  Lurking in shadows, it sought to paralyze me.  Whenever I had to move, to act that menace would be there.  At some point though, I realized that I had to deal with it, that it was a growing threat in my life.  But, I couldn’t just slap some psychological duct tape on it.  I had to deal with it, taking a hard look at why I was fearful and how I could address it.  No, it was not my part to only think of that season, maybe I could just hide for a while and let the worst of it pass.  Instead, I had to seek an end of this menace in my life. 

For me, it comes in bits and pieces, it is not cleared up in its entirety.  Only tonight it lingered about, trying to waft that sickly sweet smell towards me of nervousness with just a twinge more.  But, I hold to the promise that God did not give me a spirit of fear.  This was not his gift, so I’m not accepting it.  Instead I cling to that hope and keep journeying to make an end to this menace in my life.  It has become part of the story, part of the season.  I cannot remove it or it would remove part of who I am.  Instead, the seasons are strung together and together form the story line.   

There’s No Such Thing as Too Many Books

I love to read and do wear a sweatshirt from time to time, which proudly proclaims that there is No Such Thing as Too Many Books.  Well, okay maybe there is, in the total extreme.  However,  it would take lots and lots of books to get there.  What is it about these books though?  What can be captured in words that grabs the attention of the reader; inspiring, teaching, comic relief, worlds of words of imagination.

One of the books that grabs my attention the most are those by Tolkien.  I admire his writing, the creative ability that he used to make a world in his mind and heart and come to life for so many.  It is in the winter that I find myself turning back to those familiar pages.  First, there will be Bilbo and his story.  The shiver of the Iowa snow will be replaced with the warmth of the Hobbit gardens.  Then, the Lord of the Rings will follow next.  The stories always catch my attention and every year brings something new to mind. 

I think in the next few days I will start cuddling up with my books, a warm blanket, and let my imagination wander.  

Guided by the Lion

I have a few authors that are like old friends to me, reading their words over and over until they are part of my thought patterns.  Tolkien is one, C.S. Lewis is becoming another.  I recently finished reading The Horse and His Boy, which can be perceived as a children’s book – but really has layers of meaning.  There is a character woven through the story, a lion who the protagonist finds over and over, but interacts with him, without knowing that it is the same lion over and over. 

At the end of the story (if you haven’t read the book – stop here and go read it so I don’t ruin part of the story), the lion comes back…

Okay – I warned you…. progress further only at your own risk…..

The lion shows himself at the end to the main character and explains how he has been there all along, guiding him, changing his path, providing warmth, providing protection, teaching, and moving him to a new direction. 

In my own life, the lion has moved me off my path before.  Right now, I’m nursing along what has become affectionately known as a cobble hobbled ankle.  It’s cobble because I injured it on a cobble stone street thus leading to the hobble.  I read the Lewis book yesterday, finishing today and found myself wondering where my path was being directed.  I don’t believe in coincidence, in mis-happen could have been a chance type mind sets.  So, what is it that my path changed from, where to?  I don’t know right now.  Instead, it is my job to wait well.  It is my job to soak up the warmth from the lion rather than walk along to the next mountain.  In this time, I can continue my reading and writing, continue my seeking and searching.  And when the lion tells me to move again, I will be ready.

Tolkien and the Sword

I am a fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, the master of words who wrote a story that is so rich in thought and detail that I still read it once a year at least. Thus, my copy of the Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit are in pieces – probably at least four pieces now, with very tattered covers. They are well loved friends.

Every time I read this book, I get something new from the writing. Sometimes, it’s just soaking in the lyrical writing style, especially the iambic pentameter from the Forgotten Tales . Other times, it is understanding a character’s perspective in a new way after I have had a different experience in my life.

One of the philosophies in particular I have been thinking about, fair and foul. When Strider, with his many years of being in exile first comes to Frodo and offers his assistance, he wishes to be accepted on Frodo’s own reconnaissance. Frodo states something to the tune of - that someone who was an enemy would look fair and feel foul, while Strider looked foul and felt fair. Indeed, fair speech may hide a foul heart.

Hobbling about in an air cast, grudgingly being cordial and acknowledging people I know at Wal-Mart (because I hurt and it’s 7:30 at night on a Monday – I didn’t think anyone I knew would be there) – so wrong! Anyway, I must have looked not so much foul as frumpy and rumpled, grey sweat pants that are too big and much too comfortable to want something smaller, a sweatshirt, one tan flat shoe and my lovely orthopedic boot on the other. My hair wasn’t done, no make-up on … blah! And when I’m hurting, I don’t want touched or made to be sociable. But, even when I don’t look or feel my best, I still want to feel fair.

What is that, to feel fair? For Strider, it meant he was someone of his word, with integrity and purpose, someone with self-control, self-confidence, and yet great humbleness and compassion. He was a traveler, a royal exile who had been keeping the byways, forest paths, and hidden meadows safe from the enemy. Yet, in all of the difficulties, he managed to retain his fairness. I think this type of fairness is like a light from within, it’s the soft light that is within someone who is striving to be a force for good, a part of the body. I think that it requires someone to be part of the body of Christ because on our own, we would look and feel foul.

Another part of the Tolkien writings I love is the quote about “not loving the bright sword for it’s sharpness, nor the arrow for it’s swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” It is so easy to get caught up in the glory of the battle, especially in a moment of triumph. I’m not talking about war being a beautiful thing, but the stories round the fire of battles of moments with skill in sword, spear, and bow. It is really the thing which the sword, strategy, and armor protect for which retains the glory. We all fight our own battles and it’s so easy to get caught up in the fury of the moment. But, what am I fighting for, what glory is that hard work going toward? Instead, I need to know what it is I am fighting for – that is where the glory really lies.

If you haven’t read it yet – go pick up Tolkien. Let the words steep into your consciousness and find your own words that will stick in your heart.

The Cow Moot

Tolkien wrote of the ent moot – the gathering of the tree herders, the meeting in the dingle. The phrases which he spun are ones I wish to hold on too and wring every last ounce of poetic imagery from.

Driving down Highway 61, passing many farms and fields. There were horses which were slowly filing from the barns, the buffalo were still shaggy shadows against the wintered brown grass. But in one field, resting in a corner, there was a gathering of cows. As I drove past, I noticed the congregation and found myself pausing from singing with the normal abandon I practice in my car, to laugh at this site. In a pasture, marked by a large tree, where the land rises slowly and steadily to the fence posts meet at the corner, there lay a circle of cows. One cow, a light brown and white animal, was standing and facing the group. The rest were all laying around in a circle, each looking at the leader with focused bovine interest. I wondered what exactly this group could be discussing in their own variety of moos, snorts, and other cow sounds. Would the leader call them to order, give a roll call, and then set about going through the agenda? A meeting over hay, the field, and the hope that winter would soon be over perhaps. Maybe great conversations were held that morning over the farmer and the farmers family. The new farm dog might have brought some choice treats of news. Plans could have been made for calves which would soon join their family. News from the neighbor cows, the groundhog and his shadow and six weeks more of winter. The final discussion could have been where to meet for the next moot in the summer, to see them all again under the shade tree, and discuss the new calves, the new news.

So when you see me driving down the road next time, and I have paused from singing loudly with the radio, perhaps it because I have just seen a moot of cows and am wondering what it is they are meeting about.