Sometimes I read things that make me think long thoughts. Thoughts about how I want my life to look when it closes. Thoughts about the legacy David and I want to build and burn into these little boys. Thoughts that stretch beyond meal times and messy rooms.
I read a poem this week written by Piper, dedicated to his father in law. It made me think long, good thoughts about living with roots down deep by that stream of living water. I thought I'd share it.
The Fruitful Tree
No tree however deep the roots, However high and green the shoots, However strong the trunk has stood, Or firm the fibers of the wood, No tree was ever meant to be A never-ending shade for me Or you. Save one: where Jesus died With bleeding branches spread as wide And far as faith for sinful men.
But there was shade, especially when The tree was old: the leaves were thick With life, and though the root was sick, The bark deep-creased with age, the limbs Were laden down with love, and hymns Were heard beneath when wind bestirred The bowing branches with the Word Of heaven. O there were years of shade!
And more: there was the fruit he made, Or better, bore, when all the ground Seemed dry, we turned again and found The branches heavy with some rare Well-watered food and sweet called Care.
There must have been a river there Beneath the arid earth somewhere Deep-flowing up around the tips Of dying roots, and giving sips Of everlasting life for him To share with us while every limb Gave up its own. O, there was fruit! Life-giving from the dying root.
And more. Much more. There was the wood And it was strong. It had withstood A thousand storms, and everyone More firm. And now for every son, Grandchild and every daughter here He lies a fallen tree and dear, And leaves in you the solid wood And bids you stand where he has stood Beside the river of the Word, And that you keep what you have heard, And sing with him in one accord: "My fruitful house will serve the Lord."