I have a favorite tree.

Is that weird?  It’s random, for sure. I imagine that very few people start off a conversation with, “Welcome to my blog!  My name is Jennifer. Sarcasm is my second language. Socially Awkward is my superpower. And… I have a favorite tree.”

Alright. It’s probably weird. I’ll give you that one.

It began as a mile-marker, of sorts. Door-to-door, my morning and evening commute is exactly 26.4 miles, and my favorite tree marks the point at which I’m ten minutes from home.  When I’m running late, which happens with embarrassing frequency, I can estimate my arrival time based on the moment I pass by my tree. (It also tells me if my right foot needs to get a little heavier on the pedal.  Don’t judge.) That’s how it started. I was intentionally looking for a recognizable marker ten minutes from home, and at just the right moment, this tiny little tree caught my eye.

Because of its size and location, you have to look pretty closely to see this tree. It’s not a big, majestic oak. It doesn’t tower over everything nearby, nor do its branches spread widely, casting dapples of shade over the field in which it grows. No, those mighty trees are lined up behind my tree, maybe forty yards away from where my little tree decided to sink its roots. Those trees are tall and strong, standing like a solid wall of warriors between two fields.

My tree? My tree is a scrawny sapling that stands alone in a scraggly field of weeds. There’s barely enough girth to its trunk to make it visible to the people racing by. In so many ways, I can relate to this tree, but that’s probably a blog post for another time…

Anyway, there are days when I can’t see my tree at all. It stands just far enough off the road that when a dense morning fog blankets the ground, my little tree is hidden. Dirt storms, rain storms, tumbleweed storms – it’s nearly invisible. And darkness? The beam of light from my car’s headlights doesn’t reach that far, so my little tree gets completely lost in the dark of night.

Some days, I forget to look for my tree. I’ll admit that. This time of year, when deer are suicidal, I’m not looking for special trees. My gaze is constantly ping-ponging from shoulder to shoulder, wondering if today is the day I’ll call my husband to tell him I bagged my first deer. My priorities shift even more in the winter, just making sure my car stays where it’s supposed to on the icy highways. And in the summer, when the sky is the purest, most-peaceful blue, there’s a really good chance I’m too lost in the music blaring out of my speakers to pay attention to anything else. (Again, don’t judge. Twenty minutes blasting music and belting out lyrics while flying down the highway can be more beneficial to me than an hour with my counselor. During music therapy, I’ve been known to miss exits and turnoffs, and I once barreled past the town in which my son was playing basketball, but didn’t realize it until I’d traveled an extra twelve miles. Actually, you can probably judge me for that. I’ll give you that one, too.)

So, yeah, there are days when my focus is rather singular, and I make it all the way to work without once thinking outside myself. My little tree stands unnoticed on those days.

Kind of like God.

Now, before you get your undergarments in a bunch, I’m not comparing my all-powerful, always faithful and good God to a scrawny, potentially malnourished tree (even though the prophet Isaiah did just that in Isaiah 53:2 – tidbit of trivia). But I am saying that all-too-often, my characterization of my unlimited God is based solely on the limited realities I can see.

A few weeks ago, I was driving to work before the sun came up, and it was too dark to see my tree. I tried. I squinted and blinked, but I couldn’t see through the darkness to find my tree. It was then that I felt a nudging in my heart that whispered, “You can’t trust your eyes. The tree is still there. It’s dark, and you can’t see through the darkness, but the tree is there. And so am I. I’m here in the darkness. You can’t see me in the dark, but you can’t trust your eyes. Trust only in Me.”

I almost had to pull over to cry.

Can I be real with you? There are days when I can’t see God at all. When a dense fog settles in deep and the clarity of life becomes murky, His mercies feel hidden. When I’m caught in the middle of a raging storm, or the path that I’m on becomes so treacherous that I don’t feel like I can take my eyes off the road for even a second, I can tell you with one hundred percent honesty that I struggle to see the goodness of God.

And in the darkness? Oh, darkness. Some days, the darkness calls to me like a burial garment, begging me to lie down and seek comfort from its sinister brand of peace.

Chances are good that you’ve heard the call of darkness, too, and if you have, this blog is dedicated to you.

Has the darkness crept in; are you wrapping it around you like a dear friend?  Or are you in a wintery season of life? Does everything feel cold and dreary, and is the wind tearing you apart? Is it taking everything you have – and more – just to remain on the icy path?

If you’re like me and you can answer “Yes!” to any of those questions, whether you’re in that season now or you can sense that season coming, open your heart to the gentle nudging that’s whispering, “I’m here. Daughter of mine, I’m here. My son, I’m still here.” Then crawl into the lap of God and let His arms of love wrap around you until all you can see is the rugged tree upon which Jesus bled out his love for you and for me.

That’s where the rubber of faith meets the road of life. In the fog, in the darkness, when you can’t trust your eyes and when your feelings are liars, He’s still here. You are precious and he’s fighting for you.

When God feels hidden, let faith help you take a step forward because you know deep in your soul that God is still good. When the hand of God can’t be seen, let faith help you fill that gap – remind yourself that the heart of God works only for His glory and your good. And in moments of darkness, let faith open your heart to see a different tree, the incomparable symbol of God’s love for you.

He’s here. Don’t trust what you can see with your eyes. Trust only in Him.

2 Corinthians 4:18 – So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever. (NLT)

Isaiah 53:2 – The servant grew up before God – a scrawny seedling, a scrubby plant in a parched field. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. (MSG)