Year after year it grew, upward and upward,
Thickening girth, grasping the earth, supporting its canopy.
Brilliant sunlight, dew glistening bright; creating the memory
Of God’s gleaming grandeur, stored in its wood.
‘Till one day it fell; a loud crash, broken limbs, stretched still.
Saws quickly attacked it; bloody, ugly marred gashes;
Tearing apart, severing the heart; leaving behind scattered pieces,
Which stood upon end, split once and again, were stored in neat stacks for a year.
Summer hastened to autumn, light succumbed to gray;
The land grew wet and dreary and night replaced the day, when –
A log was lit and suddenly the bit of tree broke forth into light;
Lifting the gloom, warming the room, cheering the guest at its sight.
In its consumption the tree had the gumption to teach me a lesson or two.
God grows us tall, both one and all; as we do what He’s taught us to do.
We bask in the Sun, enjoying the One, who grows us strong and true.
But then comes the day, in troubling way, when ax is laid to the tree.
With face to the ground, and nary a sound, we whimper and wonder “Why me?”
Yet, though torn apart, we’ve not lost our part in His grand plan for man.
For when we’re consumed, the light once entombed, bursts forth in dazzling array.
Light stored in our wood, while we yet stood, now serving to spotlight His
Son.
A Christian poem by: Tim Binder — February 15, 2008