Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly . . . But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water . . . (Psalm 1)
Living along the upper Texas coast, in a town named for its towering trees, I’ve often marveled at their resilience. Some of these silent giants date back to the 1890s, weathering fierce tropical storms for generations. I’ve lived through many myself, including the flooding of Hurricane Harvey. But it was Hurricane Ike in 2008—a true wind event—that I remember vividly. The darkness of that long night made every crack and pop sound ominous as powerful gusts tore through our community.
When the sun finally rose, the devastation was clear. Our mature ash tree looked like a bomb had dropped on it, split in all directions. Yet in undeveloped parts of the city, century-old trees stood tall. If you looked closely, however, those survivors bore scars—marks from relentless storms and brutal summers. For a long time, I saw these as blemishes. Now I see them differently: not as signs of weakness, but as emblems of toughness and deeply anchored roots that refused to let go.
This mirrors the journey of longtime believers. Our lives are often marked with scars from hardships that tested our faith. I remember the financial trauma my wife and I endured when I returned to college and our income was cut in half. At the time, those circumstances felt damaging. Looking back, I see that God used them to deepen our roots rather than destroy us. Those scars are symbols of resilience, earned through storms weathered with God’s help.
For the first two years of my retirement, I felt less like those sturdy trees and more like a tumbleweed. I rolled around, trying different things, looking for purpose but finding nothing to settle me. Only recently have I found rootedness in the simple practice of daily writing. It draws me closer to God, much like a tree drawing life from a stream. This practice is not just about telling stories; it is about tracing God’s fingerprints over my life.
This brings me back to the first Psalm. David describes a person “like a tree planted by streams of water.” It is a beautiful, challenging picture. For too long, I felt rootless, blown about by the winds of stress and distraction. But Psalm 1 offers a blueprint for a blessed life. Real flourishing begins with where we plant ourselves, and whose stream we choose to live beside.
. . . and that’s what I know today.