At first it was beautiful. We were surrounded by beautiful ice trees.
But- as the freezing ice continued, weak branches and treetops broke and split under the weight of the ice.
Branches littered the ground- and even houses. But, left standing was the tree- a little worn for the weather- but strong and ready to recover.
Years back my dear sweet Grandma Jane wrote a beautiful poem called Trees in an Autumn Storm. I took the liberty to change a few words to apply the storm. I think there is a great lesson to be learned.
Trees in a Winter Storm
May I bow before God, as do the trees
before the culling winter storm--
gracefully, never fighting winds not seen.
Upper branches filled with new growth,
Responding to the sometimes thrashing torrents of rain.
For them, no hiding place from God's time-to-time testing.
They are out in the open; vulnerable, accepting.
Lifting from the roots skyward, stretching toward heaven.
And when the storms come, as they always do,
They appear to accept, and even enjoy their time of challenge.
Roots, reaching deep hold base trunk secure, firm, sure.
The bending to the winds and ice will come from the reaching latter growth.
That which has not before experienced the storm
will stand or fall from the nurturing trunk
as heavenly forces call for an accounting of new growth.
Thrashing, swaying, twisting, accepting, ever accepting
'Till the storm is through.
Then all becomes calm, as gentle rain descends.
Bathing each leaf and branch with healing touch.
The trial is over. The sky lightens.
The trees stretch once again heavenward.
Upon the ground lie twigs and leave, and sometimes branches,
that stood well when there was no storm.
Weaknesses hiding amid the strengths, 'till now.
The trees do not mourn the loss.
They have been pruned by the God that created them.
That which was strong has become stronger.
They are filling the measure of their creation.
There are lessons to be learned from winter's storms--
about life, and God, and growth, and obedience,
And so many other things--
If we could just open our eyes and hearts,
To the simple, visual parable of trees in a winter storm.