Giant Junipers and Cedars of Lebanon

Just before Christmas last year, a winter storm swept through our small town.

In our front yard stands a towering juniper tree. It's enormous, stretching well above our second-story roof. We have an underground irrigation system, but the water had been turned off for months. You see, here in Central Oregon, it's pretty normal to shut off irrigation by October to prevent pipes from freezing.

But that year was different.

There had been no snow. No rain. Just unusually warm, dry weather. The ground hadn't frozen as it normally would, and the tree was facing winter conditions without the moisture it needed.

As the days passed, I watched from my office window as our beautiful juniper began to change. What had once been rich with green needles and juniper berries slowly became dull and brittle. The needles turned brown, and eventually, entire sections began to look lifeless.

By the time the storm approached, very little of its beautiful foliage remained.

That night, the wind howled and hail poured down. And by morning, when the storm had finally passed, I looked out my office window to discover an enormous branch dangling from the top of the tree. And when I say enormous, I mean this branch was practically a small tree itself. Big enough to crush a car parked beneath it or seriously injure someone walking by at the wrong time.

It became the neighborhood entertainment as the city showed up to help remove the branch and clean up the mess. A few observers insisted the tree was dead and needed to be removed entirely. And to be fair, it looked dead to me, too.

But we weren't quite ready to give up on it.

So, for the next six months, we carefully monitored its water intake. We continued watering beneath the surface, hoping the roots would find the refreshment they needed and that somehow, what was happening underground would eventually bring renewal to the trunk, branches, and fruit of our giant juniper.

And slowly, something began to change.

Color returned. New growth appeared. And by summer, those branches that once looked so brittle and lifeless were once again covered in beautiful juniper berries.

The tree was flourishing.

But the restoration we witnessed above the surface began with something happening beneath it.

This morning, as I looked out my office window at that same juniper tree, I was reminded of Ezekiel 31. God uses the imagery of a magnificent cedar tree to describe Assyria at the height of its power. And while this passage ultimately tells of Assyria's downfall, the description of this tree is something to take note of.

"...Assyria was a cedar in Lebanon, with beautiful branches and forest shade, and of towering height, its top among the clouds. The waters nourished it; the deep made it grow tall, making its rivers flow around the place of its planting, sending forth its streams to all the trees of the field. So it towered high above all the trees of the field; its boughs grew long from abundant water in its shoots. All the birds of the heavens made their nests in its boughs; under its branches all the beasts of the field gave birth to their young, and under its shadow lived all great nations."

A tree so tall it reached toward the clouds. Branches so expansive they provided shade and shelter. A place where birds made their nests, animals found refuge, and life flourished beneath its canopy.

But why? What sustained its growth? What allowed its branches to stretch so far and provide shelter for so many?

I think the key is found in verse 7:

"...for its roots went down to abundant waters."

Its greatness wasn't sustained by what was happening above the surface, but by what its roots were drawing from beneath it.

When we dig a well, we're not creating water. We're digging deep enough to access a source that already exists. Depending on the geography, that may mean drilling hundreds of feet beneath the surface. Residential wells often have to be dug between 100 and 500 feet to find clean, pure water.

That's deep. And depth takes time.

During that time, we don't always see immediate fruit.

During that time, sometimes dead branches are removed.

During that time, the tree looks like it stands dormant.

Even lifeless.

But, if we allow our roots to be nourished; if we allow them to be stretched deep toward abundant waters- life returns again.

So, today- where is the Lord asking you to dig?

Is it in your awareness of His presence?

Is it by reprioritizing your days?

Is it a deeper understanding of your place as a daughter of the King?

Is it healing? Forgiveness?

Or simply saying..."Lord, I'm ready to dig."

Because there's abundance waiting beneath the surface.