The silence is long in the night of the soul where the darkness wraps ’round her like a deepening well.

But you’re breaking up ground that’s as hard as a rod and you’re growing her roots through the clay and the clod.

The spring lies beneath the frost hardened earth that you’re forcing away, and it aches and it hurts.

But you’re pressing down roots and you’re forcing her fruits. You’re breaking to mend and you’re hurting to heal, but the breaking will end, the full fruit to reveal.

You’re forcing her fruits so all people will see and be fed and rejoice in the life of the tree.

She bows her head low to the wind and plants her roots deeper still through the hard and the dark of this cold lonely hill.

And you’re pressing down roots and forcing her fruits from the source of your bottomless well. And the fruit that she grows in abundant supplies is ample enough to give food and plant seeds when it dies.


The Lord never wastes a tragedy. In himself he provides spiritual food for you to feed on in the valley, the dirth of the winter we endure. But he also feeds others through the fruits in us that are borne of affliction. Not only that but he is storing up this fruit to be consumed in future times of duress, so when we are tempted to say, “Surely he’s left us here to die!” we will remember his goodness to us. We will remember the beauty and delight of the fruits he forced in us in that previous valley. And after all of this he makes us to be so fruitful in and out of season that there is fruit that falls to the ground and goes to seed, making not only fruit for another season but another whole life. What we are tempted to see as a waste, rot, useless, death and decay, the Lord of the harvest says, “Just let this one die. Give it to me. Just let me take this one and I will make it a tree!”

Ps. 1:3, Rev. 22:2

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