and these roots have a strange and marvelous way of finding us as we wind our way through our days, through this life, this world, on our way home.
I love the image of roots…it has meant more to me than ever these 10+ years since my Mama’s homegoing. There are the remnants, the roots transplanted in my own soul, of all of the gifts she gave while I had her with me. These nourishing, feeding, reminding-me-how-to-live ways are never far from my consciousness.
And the ways that the roots continue to expose all that ever matters, all that ever really did matter is a wondrous thing.
The finding is so often not a stepping out into unknown worlds though that has certainly marked my own journey but it is rather the plunging deeper into those fearfully and wonderfully made ways we are all given.
Not ways that keep the roots, the journey and all that it’s given us, to ourselves. As though it is some internal epiphany relegated to the self-absorbed…
No. It is something far more. Right now I sit and wait and work and wait and try not to fret and wait as I will any-day-now welcome a new life through my own…And the roots they mean everything to the nurturing of this new life. They mean everything for the strength in the journey ahead and they hold the wellspring of joy of mama’s dearly loved their journey complete and their roots sealed unto eternity.