Withered Things

I love things that are withered.
They have stories to share.
Creeks that sing hymns.
Brokenness that has survived many storms and is full of beauty and wisdom.

They’re a simple marvel but easy to miss. To the rushing passerby, they may appear old and in need of repair. Ah, but to the seeker’s heart, they stop them in their tracks with their enchantment and sincerity. Their honest reflection of where they’ve been and what they’ve seen, often overlooked by their outward appearance, is a lost wonder to the seeker who seeks.

Like receiving (or writing) a letter, bare feet in the back yard, or stopping to pick wildflowers along the side of the road— these simple pleasures are of the heart. Where the withered lives and breathes. Where a timeless essence never can cease. It’s where the heart pours out onto limitless grounds; it’s where the heart of God abounds.

So the next time you pass a withered person, place or thing, try to become a curious wellspring.
Stop to listen, stop to behold, and you may discover invaluable gold.