MAKER OF THE TREES

Hello friends...

TREES by Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast
A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair
Upon whose bosom snow has lain
Who intimately lives with rain
Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree.

Trees are every changing as the seasons are every changing. At times they are full of life with leaves, and buds, and birds...but then with a change in the season...the become dormant, leafless, alone and dark. The first picture was taken at one of my patients house...and it was mammoth. Standing at the base of the tree and looking up was like looking up at a skyscraper reaching to the sky...disappearing into the clouds...leaving me with a slight stagger as my head tilted back. The second picture is a picture of a tree in my front yard...and each year explodes from naked branches to a covering of life that makes me just sit back and wonder.

The third picture is that same tree in the second picture...but with the sun glowing in the back ground giving it a surreal...almost burning bush type of feel to it. These trees are like fingerprints...so similar...but each one...and individual character in the novel of God's creation...much like us as human beings.

In our spiritual walk...trees play an important part in our death and our lives.

Trees were...created by God..."in the beginning". When man was given free reign in the garden...with conditions.

"Then the Lord God took the man and put him into the garden of Eden to cultivate it and keep it. The Lord God commanded the man, saying, From any TREE of the garden you may eat freely; but from the TREE OF THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat from it you shall surely die."

Of course...man and woman ate...and we fell from grace and entered into the process of physical death and separation from God. The downfall of mankind was in the shadow of disobedience at the tree.

Mankind needed a way back...as Joni Mitchell's song Woodstock...sung by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young..."we've got to get ourselves...back to the garden." Of course...no man...wo-man's...hu-man's efforts can ever get us back to that garden experience. The fall came from disobedience... the restoration must come from obedience...and that restoration would come at the point of a tree.


"For the love of Christ controls us...having concluded this...that one died (Jesus) for all (us)...therefore all (us) died; and He died (Jesus) for all (us) so that they who live (us) might no longer live for themselves, (us) but for Him (Jesus) who DIED and ROSE again on their (us) behalf."
(II Corinthians 5:14-15)

This death...took place on a tree.

"And He Himself bore our sins in his body on the TREE/CROSS...so that we might die to sin and live to righteousness...for BY HIS WOUNDS YOU WERE HEALED." (I Peter 2:24; Isaiah 53:4,11)

Physical, spiritual, emotional, healing was procured on the tree.

FINAL THOUGHTS...FINALLY

Phil Keaggy took a poem by F.W. Pitt called MAKER OF THE UNIVERSE that he found in a devotional called THE CONTINUAL BURNT OFFERING... put together by H.A. Ironside. The poem speaks of how the things of the universe created by the Creator...were used to kill Him as he became a sacrifice in our place. If you get a chance...listen to Phil's song.

MAKER OF THE UNIVERSE (F.W. Pitt)

The Maker of the universe
As Man, for men was made a curse
The claims of Law which He had made
Unto the uttermost He paid

His holy fingers made the bough
Which grew the thorns that crowned His brow
The nails that pierced His hands were mined
In secret places He designed

He made the forest whence there sprung
The TREE on which His body hung
He died upon a CROSS of wood
Yet made the hill on which it stood

The sky that darkened o'er His head
By Him above the earth was spread
The sun that hid from Him its face
By His decree was poised in space

The spear which spilled His precious blood
Was tempered in the fires of God
The grave in which His form was laid
Was hewn in rocks His hands had made

The throne on which He now appears
Was His from everlasting years
But a new glory crowns His brow
And every knee to Him shall bow

Love and Growing Kisses
Rodney "A Poem As Lovely As A Tree" Boyd