He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers (Psalm 1:3).

OK, I really appreciate the tree image.  On a day like today, when I’m running crazy, the idea of solid, deep stillness is delicious.  On a day like today, when so little that I do seems to be of real value, the thought of being useful, of fulfilling my purpose, is profoundly satisfying.  On a day like today, when my body aches and the gray is spreading quickly through what’s left of my hair, the hope of not withering invigorates me.

But I gotta tell you, Beloved–I struggle with the rest of the verse. I’m trying to be a Psalm 1 kinda guy, but I can’t honestly say that whatever I do prospers.  Maybe I’m not Psalm 1ish enough.  Maybe I sit in the seat of mockers more often than I like to admit.  Maybe my meditation isn’t up to snuff.

Maybe.

Maybe I don’t have a good enough grip on what it means to “prosper.”  Maybe, just maybe, God is prospering me in ways I can’t see, can’t even imagine.

I like that “Maybe” better.

For all that I don’t know—which is plenty—there is one thing I do know.

I wanna be a tree.