Do You Have Any Roots? If Not, Why Not?

jupiter, wonder, universe, ponder, meditate, mediation

Maybe you have roots in all the wrong places.

On my morning walks next to the Intra Coastal Waterway’s flowing water in Florida, I pass several trees.

Some, a little further away from the shore, stand firm. Others, too close to the treacherous waterline, have upended, root ball and all to tumble, helplessly into the water.

The seemingly still and calm flowing water can turn into a torrent of waves when a strong wind blows up and when a hurricane comes through, all bets are off.

Anything not firmly secured will fall prey to the forces of Mother Nature. Loose objects become missiles.

There’s something tragic-comic about one of these vast old fallen trees. Sad because it failed, all dignity is gone, and funny because it has now become a perch for herons and more, patiently waiting for an unsuspecting fish to swim past.

I stopped to take some photos, and the unwelcome thought came –

“I don’t have roots either.”

South Africa

I was born in South Africa a long time ago, raised with all the traditions that come from being a white Afrikaans-speaking kid. Yes, this was during the infamous “apartheid” era, but my dad, a farmer, would not stand for any lip from us kids. His black laborers were treated with respect and courtesy. What I remember clearly was the rule –

“if anyone is more than ten years older than you, you will not call them by their first name.” Somehow everybody was, as far as I can remember!

As for those black laborers? The prefix of Auntie or Uncle, the rough translation of “aia” or “outa” in my mother tongue, was the accepted and enforced way of address.

I grew older, not wiser. School, university, work all followed in the predictable order.

Those days are a fond memory. They are hazy and have a habit of popping up at the strangest times.

But that’s all they are – memories. They have no roots to hold them down.

Then I left.

Belgium

I followed my American husband to live in Belgium. I was desperate to assimilate. My husband was traveling extensively, and I was lonely. We were living South of Brussels in deepest Wallonia, and I spoke no French.

What to do, what to do!

I went back to school to study French. Twice a week for three hours. After three years, I was relatively fluent and went to work as a volunteer in the Belgian welfare system in a French retirement home. My little toddler was doing well in a French school.

I found a Flemish church but then discovered, closer to home, a Methodist church with English services.

After eight years, I had carved out a life. I had adapted, had friends, both English and French-speaking, and was content.

Then I left.

Once again, leaving behind beautiful memories. But no roots to anchor them.

Spain

Spain beckoned, and home was a small town thirty kilometers from the French border.  The process started all over again. But I made the delightful discovery that the locals spoke at least some French, being so close to the border. I loved the people, the culture, the food, the beaches, the climate, the Pyrenees in the distance. And made a wonderful English-speaking friend.

Best of all, I discovered an ancient fifteenth-century Basilica in the neighboring town. I didn’t understand a word of the services but went for the atmosphere. I was living in deep Catalonia.

For four years, I inhabited this strange land where I felt somewhat disembodied. Never entirely fitting in as I did in Belgium. But it was home – for now.

However, today, I only have memories. No roots to secure them.

Then I left.

The United States of America

The United States of America called, and I answered. I made one huge mistake. I assumed that everything would be familiar as the country was English-speaking, and I would fit right in.

Oh, how I longed for the fleshpots of Europe where I truly felt at home.  How I wished I could go back. But I did not.

This time I stayed.

I have now been here twenty-seven years. I still have an accent, but I speak like an American. I no longer say, “it’s a pleasure.” I say, “you’re welcome.” I call everyone by their first name instead of using a courteous prefix. My doctor excluded! I tend to cut my food and then transfer my fork to my right hand. I’m sure my manner-conscious brother is rolling over in this grave! The list goes on and on.

I take an interest in what is happening. Politics. Sports. Climate. Everything a good citizen should do.

But I have no roots in American soil. I’m a stranger in a foreign land.

As I sat pondering that after moving over three continents, four countries, and more homes than I care to remember, I was more profound in limbo than ever, the realization came – I do have roots.

I am Rooted in my Faith

From those early years and the stories about Baby Jesus and His birth at Christmas time. Mary and Joseph. The Three Wise Men.

The Old Testament. Genesis.  Rest on Sundays. (My father would not even allow me to knit on a Sunday!)

Noah – I was so worried he’d forget to take cats and dogs into the ark.

The Lord then said to Noah, “Go into the ark, you and your whole family, because I have found you righteous in this generation. Take with you seven pairs of every kind of clean animal, a male and its mate, and one pair of every kind of unclean animal, a male and its mate, and also seven pairs of every kind of bird, male and female, to keep their various kinds alive throughout the earth. Seven days from now I will send rain on the earth for forty days and forty nights, and I will wipe from the face of the earth every living creature I have made (Genesis 5:32).

Exodus. The stories about the plagues are the stuff nightmares are made of for a little girl! (Exodus 7:14-12:29)

Having helped my dad clean fish, the whole idea of spending 3 days in the whale’s belly like poor Noah required lots of explanations from adults.

Now the Lord provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights. (Jonah 1:17)

Daniel. I loved the story of the writing on the wall and King Belshazzar’s panic.

His face turned pale and he was so frightened that his legs became weak and his knees were knocking. (Daniel 5:5)

And how about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walking out of the fire?

Then King Nebuchadnezzar leaped to his feet in amazement and asked his advisers, “Weren’t there three men that we tied up and threw into the fire?”

They replied, “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

He said, “Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.”

Nebuchadnezzar then approached the opening of the blazing furnace and shouted, “Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out! Come here!” (Daniel 3:24-26)

All the Daniel stories enthralled me. Oh yes, let us not forget Ruth and Queen Ester. Way to go, ladies!

A minuscule taproot had established itself, wriggling deeper and deeper and sending out smaller lateral root branches, grabbing onto hidden fertile soil.

Through those years at boarding school and the hated enforced going to church on Sundays. Walking in a rank file, two by two like animals going to Noah’s ark. The preparation for confirmation into the Dutch Reformed Church. Memorizing the Ten Commandments (as applicable today as it was then!) and the Books of the Bible.

More Roots

Haphazard church attendance in the years that followed. Calling on God when life threw a curveball.

That tiny taproot held on for dear life and stubbornly went deeper, growing stronger.

Aging has its advantages. The aches and pains that slow me down brought other blessings. Time to think. Time to study God’s Word. To count my blessings. To pray.

Realization

And finally, the realization came. I have roamed far and wide in my life. While doing so, my taproot of faith had gone deeper and deeper, sending out lateral roots in all directions – anchoring and securing me.

I am a strong tree in life and my roots are deep. I am a Redwood and a Giant Sequoia combined.

Regardless of where I am or what life catapults at me, I am grounded in my faith.

Yes, I do have roots. I’ve always had. And they only grew more, stronger, and deeper as the years went by. I’d like to think –

He shall be like a tree
Planted by the rivers of water,
That brings forth its fruit in its season,
Whose leaf also shall not wither;
And whatever he does shall prosper
(Psalm 1:3 NKJV).

I do hope that I have brought forth some good fruit in my life. Sadly, my leaves are withering as I age, and not everything I have done prospered. Then there were the times that I did not take good care of my tree, did not water it enough.

But the intentions always were good. And I’m standing secure and taller than ever.

So, friends, take a quiet moment and consider.

How are your roots doing?

And let me know.

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1 thought on “Do You Have Any Roots? If Not, Why Not?”

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