belated thanksgiving and early christmas

I am staring out the window and all I see is the foreground. In the foreground stands a desolate tree. Her leaves have forsaken her and left her with nothing but exposure. Her depressing grey brown bark is covered with patches of moss, the greenery that grows when the sky rains tears and the earth seeps dew-drop tears leaving the surface drenched with seasonal sorrow. The tree stands as a prophetic marker for me and my heart sinks with the idea of winter.

There is history to this sinking. The two worst seasons of my life were winters at Gordon-Conwell. Once the trees lost their friendly foliage, it was gone for months. The first snow came before Reformer’s day then the snow and bone-chilling cold stayed for six months. The first year I was there, my friend and I banned together to find the white witch and kill her so that winter would end. By the time the leaves returned, they reflected my mood, as I would be traveling home to my beloved, green Seattle.

Barren trees have come to mean death, fear, isolation, dry and weary days. So, as I gaze at this pitiful lifeless tree, I see in it dark days, and, addictively, I give into the Seattle scene depression.

Still staring out the window, I notice a host of green leaves still clinging to trees. They are still sprightly and still alive. Some have turned yellow, but those are still clinging to the tree in an act of loving defiance. I sigh a slight breath of relief then let go. They will soon be bare as well. Their presence does not ward off winter.

Staring further out the window and encountering the landscape, I hear the voice of a further friend. Behind the green leaves lives my forever and for-granted friend: the evergreens. Every weary day, they will be green. Their tone is not sprightly. It is not breath-takingly bright. It is not something to get high off of like a spring or summer day in Seattle. It is simple and constant. It is nourishing. It asks of me, walk with me, in soft peace.

This time of year, we ask what we are thankful for. I am thankful for a God who is near, who is a deep and consistent green. Who will not forsake me to the winter. Who is always there, and so, always for-granted. Where, I tend to want your love only if you threaten to leave me, only if it is a game, only if your presence sends me grasping for unsatiating more and more – this season, I am thankful for a God whose love endures even when my eyes are glued to the barren tree in the foreground of a forest of brilliant evergreens.

May I encounter you, my steadfast friend and father, as often as I see your faithful green trees this season.

Psalm 75:1
We give thanks to you, O God, we give thanks, for your Name is near; men tell of your wonderful deeds

I Chronicles 16:34
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.