Land of the Free


Thick are the roots of this tree.

It has long been planted by streams I cannot see.

Yet I believe, because the growth is evident.

Something beyond me has fed this life,

and nurtured it from seed to bud to bloom,

and now it towers over parched, dry ground,

holding in its very leaves the promise of a life not even its own…

I am not self-made.

Everything I am, I owe to the Creator of a world bigger than I can fathom.

Whatever purpose I may fulfill, it is His.

Whatever ways I may become useful to those around me, it is by His design.

How sad the soul that is dependent upon itself for promotion and production.  

How dry the roots that must seek out their own sustenance and inspiration.

I have learned to be content where I am.

Once upon a time, I was a little sprout with a big imagination.

I had dreams, aspirations, and eyes that longed for more.

But as my roots grew down deep into the soil of this home,

I began to trust the plans laid out for me,

and I began to rest in where I’ve come to be.

Love can do that to a life.

Sometimes the sun burns bright above me,

and the heat does warm my soul.

Some days the rain falls hard upon me,

and the cold and wet both take their toll

upon my heart.

Yet, no matter the fate that casts its shine or shadow over me,

I know that I’m okay, and this is right where I’m supposed to be.

Because the One Who feeds my heart in places that this world can never see

Has promised He will never leave and never forsake the process He’s begun in me.

So I wait, while others scramble.  

I ponder, while others fiercely storm the limitations of their own minds for more.

I breathe in the beauty of the stillness, even while life is moving at warp speed all around.

For one reason…because I am free.

And freedom affords me the chance to enjoy what might make others cringe.

Freedom releases me from the need to go, be, do, hurry, prove, perform.

Freedom is a gift that breathes me back to life

Whenever I forget that I’m still ok, just the way I am.

Change does so often come knocking,

Like heavy autumn winds upon a window pane

Hurling admonitions like leaves all tossed and colored,

But detached from their life source, and thus demanding my attention all in vain.

What changes there be that matter, those will rise up from within,

And will not be fleeting like the autumn winds, leaving remnants scattered and hopes caved in.

Though there be tempters aimed like snipers at my heart,

I lose no sleep, for I dare not forget my part…

I am the one created.  

I yield to my Maker’s good hand.

And when I remember that He is on the throne,

Then, indeed, all is good within my land.


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