There is a psalm that promises the righteous will flourish like a palm and grow like a cedar of Lebanon. For years I read past it. Cedars, after all, are slow. They do not rush. They give themselves decades before they ever cast a real shadow, and somewhere along the way, that stopped sounding like a delay and started sounding like a promise.
This little reflection first lived inside another book of mine, one I called Broken Beads on My Moccasins. I am giving it a new name now, To Grow Like a Cedar, and a new home under my own logo. Same roots. New rings.
The years that look like waiting
When God called me back to school in my mid-forties, I did not feel like a cedar. I felt late. But the tree does not apologize for its age; it simply keeps reaching, quietly, toward the light. Every season that looked like waiting was, in fact, a season of roots.
The tree does not apologize for its age. It simply keeps reaching toward the light
Paper Halo was thirty years in the making. To Grow Like a Cedar is older still. And yet I have never once believed either was late. On the contrary — I believe this is the timing they were always meant for.