Monday, January 19, 2015


Peddling around my neighborhood one day, I realized that I had been singing over and over to myself (and only to myself…wouldn't want to offend any passers-by) this one particular line from a song. The line was, “When the hurt and the Healer collide.”
I love word pictures, as a friend calls it, and found myself smack dab in the middle of one. Lining each street I was cruising were huge, tall trees of several varieties. I describe them merely as several varieties because I really don't know types of trees, except Evergreens, which I really refer to as Christmas trees, no matter the time of year.  
The limbs from trees on each side met in the middle. These trees were extremely tall, very old, with very twisty limbs and strong huge trunks. They are the kinds of trees you see in story books. The ones that all of a sudden come to life and start talking. These trees didn't start talking, but they did deliver a message to me this day.
The trees are so old and tall they bend toward each other and meet in the middle, forming a tree canopy all the way down many streets. This became a beautiful “word picture” for the lyrics, “When the hurt and the Healer collide.” Trees over many decades growing on opposite sides of the street found each other, connected, and made a lovely covering and shelter.
I love it when God gives me illustrations for feelings I haven't been able to explain.  It’s really pretty simplistic.  I'm a tree on one side of the street, and God is the tree on the other side. The trees have collided, intertwined, and almost have become one. Size and type of the hurt does change as throughout life there are varying degrees our hearts may hurt. The hurt hasn't stopped the tree from growing or even looking beautiful, and it’s still doing all its “tree duties,” even while it may be hurting. Hurt and contentment can coexist. All can be right with my soul, even if things aren't all right in my world. My heart and soul desire “collision” with God every day. It's a collision that brings strength, not weakness.  A collision that brings wellness, not injury.