Got Roots?

Not the “grow out” roots you get from an overdue visit with your hair stylist.  The other kind.

The roots I’m picturing belong to the tree that is described in Psalm 1. When talking about what the righteous look like, David said this:

They are like trees planted along the riverbank,
    bearing fruit each season.
Their leaves never wither,
    and they prosper in all they do.

Psalm 1:1-3

Can you picture those trees? They are strong. Their roots run deep. They’re anchored in rich soil. They’ve been carefully nurtured.

How?  Well by a specialist, of course. An arborist, to be exact.

So what is an arborist?

Dictionary.com says this:

ar·bor·ist

See if this describes your job as a busy mom:

Cultivation and care of your child— check!
Requires some heart surgery—mostly the “inner” kind—check!
Demands a diagnosis from time to time—and treatment too—check!
Preventative in nature—check!
Pest control?  You know it!

Yep. I thought so. You’re an arborist.

If you’ve got kids, you’re an arborist. Only you’re tending to the eternal, not the temporal. You’re impacting the future, one tiny trim and watering at a time.

I’ve been privileged to watch some amazing arborists in my time. And guess what? They didn’t do everything right.  But I’ll say this: they were intentional about caring for their little saplings. The best arborists are trees too, you know, and they have learned to bend so that they don’t break.  They haven’t over-watered their young trees with the language of legalism. Instead, they cover their young with grace—and the occasional, necessary pruning.

Strong kids almost always have this in common: they’ve been patiently, tenderly, intentionally nurtured over time by parents who take their job seriously.

These parents—these tree-whisperers—are doing what is arguably the most important job on the earth: they are raising the next generation.

The world we live in is challenging. It’s easy for young saplings to get torn out by their roots when cultural winds blow.

And the winds are sure blowing now, aren’t they?

But strong trees—trees that are rooted deep in the rich soil of God’s truth and grace— are not blown about by the winds that surround them.

As a mother, it is comforting to know that God cares deeply, even more than I, about our young orchard. I don’t have to worry about what to teach our children about truth—since truth does not change. God has spoken to the really important matters already. He has told us how to love—and He has shown us how to love. We must love in spirit and in truth.

Is it tough?  Does in rain in Washington?

I’m learning — sometimes the hard way — that I can be an intentional arborist without having it all together also. I don’t have to have every answer.  But I must be willing and I must be rooted. Willing to put in the long hours, and willing to tend to my own root system: my marriage, my own relationship with God and my relationships with others.  After all, strong roots—strong mother.

So what does it look like to be an intentional arborist?
Here are three ways you can become a better, more intentional arborist.

• Get rooted yourself.
  You’ll need fertilizer. God’s Word is the best there is!
  Strong roots=strong mama. You can’t be like that tree in Psalm 1 if you’re not rooted first in the soil of the Bible. Spend time with the Lord each day. I like to read just a chapter each day in the Psalms and this year, I’m going through the New Testament. Don’t know where to start? Try the book of Philippians. You can’t go wrong.
• Get praying.
  Need wisdom?  I sure do!  Seems like each one of our seven children needed an entirely new set of instructions! Cookie-cutter parenting simply doesn’t work. Ask God specifically for the needs of your children. Name them. God made and designed them, so it makes sense that He would know what each child needs. Even that strong-willed child.  Yeah. That one might require some extra prayer.  I know my poor mother had her hands full with me!  “Lord, help me shape this strong will for YOUR GLORY!”
• Get the BIGGER picture.
  Boy, is it hard to see past tantrums, late nights, long conversations, repeated instruction, consistent discipline, failure, disappointment.  (And I’m just talking about my own issues here!) Goodness knows we’ve got to see the WHY or we can easily get lost in the oh-so-daily tasks of parenting. Mom, you are doing an amazing job.  The impact of your intentional parenting will last long after the last load of laundry has been run through and you’ve watched your child begin to put down new roots on his own.

  What we’re doing today will impact our grandchildren.  I wonder … what kind of a root system will they inherit from this generation of arborists?

  The impact of your intentional parenting will last long after the last load of laundry has been run through and you’ve watched your child begin to put down new roots on his own.

The work you do now will yield a harvest of joy if you hang in there. Plant tenderly.  Sow with love. Plant with the harvest in mind.

The harvest is coming, busy mom. As I watch my adult children interact with my little ones, I am reminded of how fast the years go.  Indeed, the days can be long, but the years go by fast.

Know what I mean?

You sure look cute in those arborist overalls, by the way.

They suit you.

The St. Johns are the publishers and co-authors of Firmly Planted, a Bible study for the entire family.  Check it out here.

“Good things come to those who wait.”

Boy, I heard this a lot as a child, this philosophy of waiting. It was preached from the pulpit, at school and yes, at home. It’s funny how you turn into your parents, pastors and teachers … eventually.

When I was young, I was always in a hurry to grow up. I remember thinking, “if only I could drive…” or “if only so-and-so would ask me out” … and then, I married the most wonderful man—and the “if onlys” began again. “If only we had more money”, “If only the kids would obey!”

Time is a teacher. At long last, I am discovering something about my if only attitude. In Romans, Paul was having a similar angst. Except he had the right perspective.

“But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” Romans 8:25

In the quiet (read: before the kids awake), I let these words soak deep into my spirit. And a four little words speak to my spirit. “We hope—We Wait.”

Look closely. They come before and after “for what we do not have.”

We live in a world that is desperate for hope. Entire {successful} presidential campaigns have been built on the word “Hope.”  It is a powerful word. It holds a promise that is unique to the one who hears it.

What are we hoping—and waiting for? Some weighty things come to mind—

Raising children is really an exercise in hope. Each day requires renewed patience and discipline as I wait to see the beginnings of buds appear on the branches of those little saplings I have planted oh-so-carefully with my husband.  The promise of fruit that will appear —the hope—that if I plant with the harvest in mind, and if I nurture these little souls—and if—I can ask forgiveness … there.will.be.fruit.

We hope—for what we do not yet have.

We wait for it—patiently

… when we’ve said “no” for the trillionth time
… when we are challenged repeatedly
… when the gentle correction seems to not be working
… when the toddler just will.not.stop. whining
… when the math lessons are wearisome
… when I am weary from the oh-so-daily reminders:

“your school books don’t go there”
“yes, it’s your turn to unload the dishwasher”
“please treat your sister with kindness”
“stop arguing with each other…please …. now … STOP!”

Many moms fall into bed each night exhausted and discouraged—for little change is seen in the day-to-day challenges of raising children.

Real change is incremental. It is a decision of the heart.

So we wait—with hope—for what do we do not yet see.

And we don’t give up. And we love with a fierceness that burns brightly on long winter days.

And—we keep waiting—because we believe the promise.

Good things come to those who wait. And just like Rome wasn’t built in a day, so fruit trees don’t mature overnight.

One day, I am learning, the effort begins to bear fruit. Children grow up. They get married … and… I’m also discovering that eventually, they make ecstatic grandmothers out of tired mamas.

There will be fruit. Plant with the harvest in mind.

Be encouraged,
heidi