After the storms passed, I walked the trails of our property quietly taking in the damage done.
Exposed roots.
Trees snapped.
Areas looking like a bulldozer has plowed through.
This past winter in Colorado we saw more days with wind than we did with snow.
It was strange.
It was a somewhat harsh reminder that even if we think we know what season of life we are in, unexpected storms will always come.
During winter we expect to see snow in Colorado. But this year, we had wind.
Our mountain property lost well over 100 trees this past winter from the strongest winds I had ever experienced in my lifetime so far.
We would lose power for days at a time.
We would need to get creative and improvise with cooking and light and watering the animals.
Huge trees that we assumed were the strongest and most healthy were blown completely over, exposing their roots to the sky.
And as I walked through it all, I couldn’t help but wonder…
How?
How could something that looked so strong and steady just tip over?
As I walked through our forest, I would stop and look at the roots, the soil in which they lived, and the surrounding area that the giant tree once stood tall.
Some roots were shallow.
Some were tangled.
Some looked like they had never been given the space or time to grow deep enough to truly hold the massive tree trunk above them.
Some of the soil was full of huge rocks.
Some soil was so dry that it was a wonder how the tree was even still alive before it fell.
Some areas had plenty of space for that tree to grow.
Other areas were so crowded with new trees, old trees, bushes, and ground cover, that there was just roots on roots on roots all competing for space.
And that’s when it hit me.
The storm didn’t create the weakness.
It revealed it.
And the more I’ve sat with that, the more I’ve realized how true that is, not just in nature…
but in life.
Because we do this too, don’t we?
We try grow too quickly.
We take on more, more, more until there is literally no space left... physically, mentally, emotionally.
We stretch ourselves in every direction, spreading ourselves thin rather than getting strong in one area.
We try to be everything to everyone.
To hold it all together.
To keep standing tall, even when we’re exhausted.
From the outside, everything can look strong.
Full.
Even thriving.
But underneath?
Sometimes our roots are tired.
They are weak.
They are so thirsty and dry.
Sometimes they haven’t had the nourishment they need.
The rest.
The space.
The time.
And then a storm comes.
Maybe it looks like:
- a diagnosis
- a loss
- a hard season
- unexpected change
- our own mental health
And suddenly, everything that felt stable starts to shake.
The roots that we thought were strong and holding us steady begin to loosen...little by little...becoming exposed.
Not because we did something wrong.
But because the storm reveals what’s been going on beneath the surface all along.
This season of my life has made that clearer to me than ever.
I can’t control when the storms come.
I can’t predict what they’ll look like.
But I can tend to my roots.
I can slow down.
I can nourish what matters.
I can make space for rest, for faith, for my family, for my health.
I can choose to grow deeper… not just taller.
Because maybe the goal isn’t to avoid every storm.
Maybe the goal is to become so deeply rooted…
that when the winds come, we’re still standing.
Not perfectly.
Not untouched.
But grounded, steady, and held.
Held in our faith, our values, our loved ones, our purpose.
And maybe this season for some of us,
the one that doesn’t look like growth on the outside…is actually the season preparing us for the kind of strength that can withstand what’s ahead.
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