the stronger the wind, the stronger the trees

Life has been tricky lately. There isn't any necessary reason for this, but just that I've felt like I'm in a big rut and I keep slipping as I try to get out. It's like Satan is working overtime to make me feel inadequate, guilty, unhappy, and frustrated with everything that I am or am not doing. 

And the last thing I want to portray here or on So Festive is that life is perfect and peachy. No, it isn't. But I try really hard to Cherish the Day and to still do things that are me and that bring joy to everyday life. 

I'm so thankful for my little family who is patient with me through all of this. They are my life. I am grateful for Brandon who I can lean on for support, for Blake who can make me laugh, and for Evelyn who can make any bad moment seem okay because of her unending sweetness. God knows what He was doing to send these people into my life. 

Little moments like: a festive package from a friend, Evelyn wanting to cuddle at bedtime (this never happens), a husband who will sing along as I practice the guitar, a beautiful sunset, or when Blake gives me one of his fast, running kisses before bedtime remind that it will all be okay. And it is okay. 

We have this poem posted in our bathroom and I just love it. 

The tree that never had to fight,
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out on the open plain,
And always got it’s share of rain,
Never became a forest king,
But lives and dies a scrawny thing.

The man who never had to toil,
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share,
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man,
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow in ease,
The stronger the wind, the stronger trees
The farther sky, the greater the length
The more the storm, the more the strength,
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In tree and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
This is the common law of life.

                     Douglas Mallock

Good timber does not grow at ease. 


  1. I grew up on this poem. It's one of my Dad's favorites!! Love your guts and hope you get out of your rut. I'm here for ya!!

  2. What a beautiful reminder that we can do hard things! Keep smiling is what my grandpa always says :) I love that picture of your family...and what a great idea to have your own little Thanksgiving with your little family.

  3. I appreciated (and needed) your post. The poem you mentioned is awesome and reminded me of another poem that I often think about when I feel pulled and stretched almost beyond my ability to handle it.

    Short Roots

    By Carol Lynn Pearson

    The tree

    At the church next door to me

    Turned up its roots and died.

    They had tried

    To brace its leaning,

    But it lowered

    And lowered,

    And then there it lay—

    Leaves in grass

    And matted roots in air,

    Like a loafer on a summer day.

    “Look there,”

    Said the gardener,

    “Short roots—all the growth went up—

    Big branches—short roots.”

    “How come?” I asked.

    “Too much water.

    This tree had it too good.

    It never had to hunt for drink.”

    Especially in thirsty times,

    My memory steps outside,

    And looks at the tree

    At the church next door to me

    That turned up its roots and died.


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