Blessed is the man . . .
His delight is in the law of the LORD,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.
We are finally taking the Christmas tree down. It stopped drinking water days ago. It still does a good job of looking alive, propped up in its base and covered by sparkly things. But the growing pile of needles on the floor hints at the truth of the matter. An evergreen doesn’t exactly wither. It’s too rigid for that. As it dries out it become brittle. Hostile. The branches may be green, but they are no longer soft. They no longer smell of the forest. When I brush again them, the needles stick in my sweater, even my skin. No roots.
I wilt for want of your Word.
Oh, I am good at dressing the part, disguising my thirst in the latest shiny distraction. But underneath it all I am brittle, bitter, and hostile. Just a spark, and I am liable to go up in flames.
I want to blame it on others, on my circumstances, on my inadequacies, but I know the root cause. I have become unmoored from your Word.
Your Word is my life. It is the rain and snow and that come down from the heights, watering the earth and making the desert sing. It is my creation, my sustenance, and my renewal.
You speak, therefore I am.
If I wither, it is because I have removed myself from you, thinking I have enough in my own leaky cistern. It is not enough.
And so I pray,
Plant me in your Word, day and night, till it becomes my delight.
Let living water rise from the depths of your being, till I am one and abiding with the Vine.
Root and ground me in your bottomless love, till the sap of your Spirit flows strong in my limbs, and I breathe out the scent of water.
Then your fruit will be my blessing, according to your Word.