Seeds of Hope

Late last July, my wife and I spent a few days in Breckenridge, Colorado, just before our 40^th Anniversary. To be sure, so much about the trip was wonderful. Beautiful scenery. Great weather. Time alone together.

But there was too much reminding us of the COVID pandemic. For starters, having to wear a mask from the time we entered the airport in Chicago until we got in the rental car in Denver was miserable. When we arrived at our lodging, I had to call the front desk to check in and someone came out to give us our keys, etc. As expected, masks were required everywhere in the hotel. One restaurant was open, but the hours were cut—we didn’t know it until we arrived too late for dinner. When we went to town the next morning, signs marked every entrance to town informing us that masks were required everywhere —even outside—or you faced a fine (no pun intended) of $250.

If you read many of these posts, you know already that we enjoy hiking. So, off we went on a short one. Along the path, we encountered other hikers headed the opposite direction. Many of them, as soon as they saw us coming, pulled a mask up over their face to avoid contamination.

This and more put a damper on an otherwise nice trip. There were other things going on in our lives at the time—events that had greatly saddened, hurt, and frustrated us.

I would say our “hope level” was at an all-time low.

A Messenger of Hope

Then on our last full day in Colorado, we went for another hike—a longer one, since we finally acclimated a bit to the thin air. Far fewer people on this path; no one masked up as we approached. Cotton clouds dotted the clear blue sky. The air was clean; temperatures, ideal. A good day for a hike to lift the spirits a bit.

But something else spoke a word of encouragement that early afternoon.

Walking through a clearing, we came around a bend in the path that led us to a gradual descent back into the woods. Very quickly, though, the scene sobered us. Hundreds of charred, blackened pine trees surrounded us. Evidently, some time ago a fire scorched dozens of acres on this mountainside, leaving behind a path of destruction. While most of the trees remained, some succumbed; all were scarred.

This wasn’t our first encounter with such a scene of fiery destruction.

On another anniversary trip—our 25^th—we were in Yosemite National Park, hiking a trail from Glacier Point to Nevada Falls, taking in some of the most spectacular scenery in the lower 48. I had to be careful with my picture taking. These were the good ol’ days of 35 mm film photography and no decent camera on my cell phone. Easily I could’ve spent my film cache on that hike alone.

But again, amid this stupendous beauty, we happened upon a large swath of ground decimated by fire. We had an unobstructed view of Half Dome, but shouldn’t have. It was all a bit sobering. This wasn’t like the controlled burns we had witnessed in other places in the park. Whatever fire roared through the area was unattended and devastating.

But back in Colorado in 2020. As I paused to take in the charred forest, a particular tree grabbed my attention. There, surrounded by scores of blackened mature pines stood a lone, young, vibrant, verdant evergreen youth.

Certainly a few brief years earlier, the forest bed seemed hopelessly destroyed. But a seed germinated in the ash-enriched soil. Fed by the nutrients of decay, it thrived and grew into a sapling. And now it stood before me as a testimony of hope.

It’s Not!

However scorched the earth, however great the loss, however hopeless it all seems, it’s not.

God designed His creation to employ the remains of devastation to nourish hidden seeds. From those seeds, hope for the forest emerges.

In the providence of God, life is often hard and painful. We face emptiness when we once were full. Heartache displaces hilarity. Grief mars and scars a once-beautiful life landscape. Hope wanes; despair overwhelms.

If you haven’t read the book of Ruth lately, I commend it to you. This rich and wonderful story occurs in the bleakest of times, centers on a woman in whose heart hope has died. Ah, but God plants a seed of hope, causes it to germinate and cultivates it until hope blossoms in rich display. The fruit of that hope is unimaginable in the book’s opening lines.

The book of Ruth has been the basis of the latest series of messages I’ve preached on Sunday mornings. If you find yourself in a dark pit, feeling overwhelmed with a sort of hopeless despair, I would encourage you to give a listen.

• “Hope Blossoms in the Desert” – An overview of Ruth
• “The Death of Hope” – Ruth 1
• “The Seed of Hope Planted” – Ruth 2
• “The Blossoming of Hope” – Ruth 3

The series will end this Sunday, February 7, 2021…but the message of hope lives on in the Redeemer, the ultimate offspring of Ruth’s redeemer!