November 2, 2008

Special Thanks to Shawna for sharing with us today. I really appreciated the excerpt she shared. I thought I’d post it here as well so that we can look over it from time to time. It’s a good reminder that we aren’t always going to be in this season and though sometimes it may seem there is little difference seen in our children; one day we’ll see so big a difference and it will seem amazing to us. She also shared with me a few key verses to remember and meditate on this week that I’ll post on the Wisdom for the Week.

I would also like to thank Phyllis Fater from Glenpool’s Parents As Teachers Program. To find out more information about OPATP you can contact her at:

Phone:918-322-9801 E-mail:pmfater@glenpool.k12.ok.us

You can also contact OPAT for Bixby and Jenks at:

Bixby: Contacts: Chrissy Streeter, Tiffany Dotson, and Carrie Benjamin Phone: 366-2260 or 697-9399

Jenks: Contact:Shea Taber Phone:918-299-4415 E-mail: shea.taber@jenksps.org



Anonymous:The Hidden Years
by Alicia Britt Chole

The Prologue

i n w i n t e r

He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season.
—Psalm 1:3

A century ago, a few fragile seeds fell upon rocky soil. Through
drought and flood, they clung tightly to earth, stubbornly stretching
toward the heavens. Today, silver maple, post oak, and black
walnut trees surround our home like tall, loyal sentinels. Their
intricate, mingled root systems support the ground below. Their
long, angular boughs weave a canopy above.
Before I was, they were.
My elders by many decades, their presence is steadying.
In the heat, I rest under the covering of their rich foliage.
Bursting with shades of green, the leaves dance in the breeze.
Winter’s reduction is coming, but that does not halt the dance.
Trees celebrate the moment, temporary though it is.
In the spring,
their new growth sings of hope. Their lush greenery offers peace
in the summer. In the fall, their colorful collages inspire creativity.
And in their emptiness, trees grace the winter with silent
elegance.
Though my skin prefers their role in summer, somehow my
soul prefers their lessons in winter. Then, when growth pauses,
the trees have often become my teachers.
What the plenty of summer hides, the nakedness of winter
reveals: infrastructure. Fullness often distracts from foundations.
But in the stillness of winter, the trees’ true strength is unveiled.
Stripped of decoration, the tree trunks become prominent.
As a child I always colored tree trunks brown, but to my adult
eyes they appear to be more of a warm gray. Starting with their
thick bases, I begin studying each tree. Buckling strips of bark
clothe mile after mile of weathered branches. Leafless, the trees
feature their intricate support systems. Detail is visible, as is dead
wood. Lifeless limbs concealed by summer’s boasting are now
exposed.
My eyes glide from one rough, uneven bough to another
and then to the terminal, delicate twigs. A tree’s posture is allopen,
like arms ready for an embrace. So very vulnerable, yet so
very strong. I find the display quieting and full of grace.

In winter, are the trees bare? Yes.
In winter, are the trees barren? No.
Life still is.

Life does not sleep—though in winter she retracts all advertisement.
And when she does so, she is conserving and preparing
for the future.

And so it is with us. Seasonally, we too are stripped of visible fruit.
Our giftings are hidden; our abilities are underestimated.
When previous successes fade and current efforts falter, we can
easily mistake our fruitlessness for failure.

But such is the rhythm of spiritual life: new growth, fruitfulness,
transition, rest . . . new growth, fruitfulness, transition,
rest. Abundance may make us feel more productive, but perhaps
emptiness has greater power to strengthen our souls.
In spiritual winters, our fullness is thinned so that, undistracted
by our giftings, we can focus upon our character.
In the absence of anything to measure, we are left with nothing to stare
at except for our foundation.

Risking inspection, we begin to examine the motivations that
support our deeds, the attitudes that influence our words, the
dead wood otherwise hidden beneath our busyness. Then a lifechanging
transition occurs as we move from resistance through
repentance to the place of rest. With gratitude, we simply abide.
Like a tree planted by living water, we focus upon our primary
responsibility: remaining in him.

In winter are we bare? Yes.
In winter are we barren? No.
True life still is.

The Father’s work in us does not sleep—though in spiritual
winters he retracts all advertisement. And when he does so, he is
purifying our faith, strengthening our character, conserving our
energy, and preparing us for the future.
The sleepy days of winter hide us so that seductive days of
summer will not ruin us.