I think I’ve known for a while that symbols are important, that they break open your deep places and spill light into soul-caverns. One that has been with me for some time now is the tree with its age rings. How it grows outward to newness only through embracing and accepting all of itself–everything it’s experienced, all the pain, the moments where everything seemed lost, the moments of weakness. All this must be enveloped in order for growth to happen. It is a love of oneself, of each bruise and burn that defines the shape and texture and breath of life.
This is the lesson I have seen in the tree, that I have tried to turn away from in my diapause, my clinging to the old, familiar version of myself. But now it is also the symbol of what I can be.
When I wrap my arms around a tree, I am embracing its life; I am embracing my symbol; I am embracing myself. May I learn to love me in my weakness, in my bruises, as Jesus does. Because he sees the beauty of the thing that he made.