Dying to Live


I thought a November walk in the woods would be less intriguing.  But then I stopped to acknowledge the dying around me.  And in the decay I smelled future life.  Fallen heros of the forest give there last offerings to the life of the woods. Lying in their beds of carpeted foliage, they testify to life sacrificing for the new growth struggling to be strong.  And always the bedrock holds the ground from generation to generation. 
These are the royalty of the woods, robed in moss and light, spreading life as they die.

How like my earthen wanderings – a royal member, commissioned to cultivate life as I die. 

But for me, my life is not lost to the new growth among which I die.  It is lost only in the source of the Life I lived.  My final death never comes.  When I am laid in my earthen bed, I’ll exchange this fleeting work on earth for the product of the eternal work of My Saviour.  And while I revel in the glory His work has created, I pray the fading evidence of my earthly days will fertilize His life in the generations to come.  Sigh