A while ago I listened to a podcast featuring a conversation between singer, song-writer, poet, and author Andrew Peterson and Hebrew scholar and founder of Bible Project Tim Mackie. They were talking about trees. Trees in real life. Trees in literature. Trees in the past. Trees in the future.

Somewhere around minute 31, Andrew made a remark about dirt.

As we fit the pieces back together with care and attention, we graciously hold these parts of our story. As we rebuild the pottery, we recognize that our story is still unfolding and that we are invited to actively participate in the creative process. And as we notice the beauty that emerges from the repair, we look for the beauty that is emerging from our own stories.

The soul behaves like those wild brush rabbits, knowing its vulnerability in the presence of others, hiding instinctively in its homely bramble. Patience and gentleness can begin to call it out, teaching it through experience that it can safely reveal itself.

We all hit seasons of life when we question what we were made for. How did I get here? What am I doing and why? Like Ignatius, we are forced to let go of childhood dreams and walk a new, undefined path.

It’s our dreams that most often die. The new and exciting job that we worked so hard for turns out to be hugely disappointing. The marriage we entered into with such hopeful expectation dies slowly or suddenly. The dream of having children. Finding a partner. Good health. Mobility. Financial security. Like a tree falling over, we feel the painful thud as it hits the forest floor.