Jamie Kristen

A viewpoint on barrenness

I am sitting in my breakfast area–with my French Press coffee and hot, buttered cinnamon rolls–spending time in mindfulness and gratitude. I look out my window, trying to recall when I didn’t despise snow–I live in Nashville, Tennessee (did I mention?).

Thinking on the havoc they have wreaked in the past week or so, the ice dangling from the tree branches and the glistening snow on the ground, are a stark reminder of how divine beauty can bring with it excruciating pain. This past week in our city of music, winter has brought turmoil, heartbreak and in some cases–death. (I could go down a pontificating rabbit hole on the matter, but this post is about appearance and introspection.)

As I’m looking up at the hills, I am struck by the nakedness of the trees. They have been stripped of their lush foliage and glorious verdigris, laid waste, forced into temperature-induced barrenness. By most standards they would not be considered lovely. In their current state, as esteemed by humans, they are plain and unattractive. Were they people–male or female–they would be viewed as damaged and pressured to fix themselves.

One reason trees lose their leaves in winter is actually self-preservation. In order for the trunk (core-self) to survive the harsh seasonal conditions, they must lose their foliage. This enables the structure (foundation) to hold enough water to survive until the next season when regrowth can happen. They are not embarrassed by the loss of beauty because they are focused on something less temporal–survival. They’re conserving water and–in the long run–to ensure proper hydration is far more important than to maintain physical appearance.

Thankfully, our Creator doesn’t think the same way as we do. When the Omniscient One looks at the earth and its inhabitants, They see only perfection. Because They see everything through the eyes of grace. How would our view of loss change, if we focused on the whole spectrum of life, instead of the one challenging season?

I know several couples (that’s right–it affects both partners) who have lost unborn children and others who are/were unable to conceive at all. I know firsthand the shame that accompanies loss and the feeling that I must not have measured up or this “thing” (or) “person” would not have been taken from me. There is obviously a major flaw in this thinking. The inherent truth is that, often times, we lose something so we may gain something else.

Our minds, souls and bodies are like vessels–if they are full, they can no longer accept anything fresh. Sometimes, the only way to obtain something new is to lose something we possess. Possession itself is an illusion (perhaps a topic for another day). Speaking for myself, the sooner I make peace with loss, the more quickly I find restoration and the joy of some new thing. Grief is not to be ignored or pushed aside but it was never meant to become a yoke. Grief cannot become our identity and if it has, we can–and ought to–change that.

As for me, I choose grace. I opt to view myself and my current circumstances through a gracious lens. I consciously choose not shame myself for losing things I never truly owned. And I will not dwell on what I have not achieved, nor what I perceive was stripped from my life. I will look with grateful expectation at what is to come.