One who has watched Nature for some years, and has sought to catch the meaning of her parables, remarks that he knows none more suggestive or cheering than that parable which she gave us this summer.
One spring day a violent gale blew from the south. It was just at that time when the elms were adorned in their delicate first green leaves, when the young pink tinted sycamore leaves were beginning to unfold, and when the early oaks were opening their mellow buds. The result of that gale was such a sight as is seldom to be witnessed. Elms and sycamores were scorched as with fire, their tender leaves were shriveled up, and black and burnt they rustled upon the branches, while the oaks looked as if it were winter.
Many said the trees must die, and as the month of May wore on, and they remained barren and unfruitful, it seemed as if the gloomy prediction would be realized. But lo! June came, and with it to these stricken trees a second spring. By degrees the elms were clad again, and the sycamores shook out their pendent flowers, and at last the oaks, which seemed so hopeless and lifeless, were robed again in the mellow garb of spring. Fears were entertained on account of some of the oaks, for till June was well advanced, they stood in the hedgerows and on the hillsides facing the south looking as bare as winter. But slowly, slowly their vigor of life asserted itself, and so it is, this year these trees have had a second spring.
Is there not herein a parable to us, and a voice to cheer?
It is not every christian who stands facing the storm; some are situated in more secluded spots than others, and so escape the bitterest of the death laden blasts of trial and distress which others experience. But to such as have been stripped of their leaves, and who, though it be their midsummer, yet seem as lifeless as winter, may we not say, Take courage, and learn of life and strength from the trees.
A mighty strength for recovery lay in the trees, and it asserted itself by beginning the laborious work of spring all over again. There was no new freshness instilled into brown and withered leaves, no restoration of the lifeless parts to living freshness; but from within there commenced an unseen work, which resulted in a slow and gentle putting forth of the tender shoots one by one and little by little. So it came to pass that where more favored trees were in full large leaf―such as the ash, which, being so late in its verdure, escaped the effects of the blast―the unusual sight was seen of the oak, out of its order, just beginning its year life over again.
Now are there not resources in God’s kingdom of grace excelling those of His in the kingdom of nature? Shall any christian doubt that He, at whose command the life of the trees clothes the forest with verdure, that He, our God, has power to clothe the most backward or soul stricken of His people with more than their early freshness? This is impossible to doubt.
The believer has Christ as his life, and in the believer the Spirit of God dwells, and though the blasts of temptation may have withered his life’s early promise, still where there is honest confession of this truth, and also patient waiting on God, little by little the graces of Christ within and the beauty of holiness shall surely express themselves.
The beginning of the recovery will be unseen, it will be a process going on in the soul, known perhaps to God alone, but the end will be a witness to men. Such work will necessarily be gradual.
It was observed, too, that the black, withered up leaves remained in their places. No restoration of these took place; but they became gradually hidden by the beauty of the fresh life. We cannot alter the past. We cannot mend the broken and ruined work of bygone days; but if we look only to Christ, we shall not be wanting in freshness or in fruit.
Let the stricken believer hope in God, and expect from Him. Look for an arising of such freshness and vigor, that what now seems a lifeless life shall yet be graced with the beauty of a second spring.