Rooted

Upon finishing graduate school, my new husband and I were wide open to all the places we could move. We were young, and the world was our oyster. The big dream was to move to Boston so he could attend a trade school, but the job hunt for me was hitting dead-ends and we were not about to move somewhere without the security of a paycheck. We tried for Oregon, 2,000 miles from home, but again, we wanted the security of employment before we took the plunge, and that security wasn’t coming. Then a job appeared in a small town, merely three hours away. We accepted, loaded up a U-haul, and were on our way. For five years we explored and embraced the foothills in which we were planted. Memories are rich even still. 

Then our first baby came along. The desire to be closer to family trumped this beautiful place we were living, and we drastically decided to move back home. It was a move rich in comfort—being back among familiar places and family—but also full of despair from the reality of our haphazard decision to return.

Over time, we settled and raised our children in the town in which we had grown up. We reminisced about our years in the foothills and considered the “what-ifs” if we had stayed, but we told ourselves it was better that we had come home. We moved a few times during those 19 years, one time even moving out to a nearby town, but the lure of security always kept us close. The older we became and the older our children grew, the more we didn’t want to rock the boat too hard. 

Over the years, our children listened to us dream about traveling, about moving different places, or about pursuing different careers. And over time, that dreamy talk started to dissipate. As our children grew older, we didn’t want to uproot them. As our parents grew older and less healthy, we felt shame in the prospect of leaving them. Then our eldest went away to college, and the change in our family dynamics shook me. 

My life of homeschooling, working part time, and having a house full of four shifted. I found myself working full time again and our dinner table changed to a table of three. This shift started to revive something within me that grew and grew. This place I had called home for nearly 50 years was pushing me away. It began as a small whisper and one that I didn’t know what to do with. The timing was terrible—we knew moving away would never work, and what about that sense of security we always pursued? 

Months moved along, and that pushing became stronger and stronger. My daughter’s school and my employment became unsettled. While my husband’s job was strong, he’d been there for 17 years, and we often wondered if he could be as successful somewhere else. So we started to dream again. We widened our radius and found ourselves drawn to a place six-plus hours away and very unlike anywhere we had ever been. Despite all our worries, concerns, and anxiety, we were quite obviously pushed to this place.

The doors were flung wide open, and there was nothing but fear holding us back. 

So here I sit. Planted in a new habitat that is completely unlike anything I have ever known. Struggling to find my way around this town. Learning to be comfortable in a new house, in a new neighborhood, and in a new city. My roots are newly planted and easily bent. The winds of anxiety threaten to blow me over or yank me out. I know this is the place where I’m meant to grow, and to give up and go back to the security of my hometown would not create any flourishing growth. But I feel tender. These tiny roots don’t seem strong enough to keep me in place. 

Jeremiah declares, “Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose trust is the Lord. He is like a tree planted by water that sends out its roots by the stream, and does not fear when heat comes, for its leaves remain green, and is not anxious in the year of drought, for it does not cease to bear fruit.” For my roots to sink down deep and for my life to yield any flourishing in this place, my roots must feed from that blessed stream. 

The Lord has brought us to this place, and He has promised growth. This growth will come from glorious sunshine and refreshing rains, and it will come in periods of drought and seeming struggle. Nevertheless, when my trust is in Him and His leading, I can know that we will never cease to bear fruit. 

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Aimee Davis doesn’t remember a time when words weren’t constantly roaming around in her head. These days she spends her time chasing words and thoughts while she tries to spark wonder in the eyes of a bunch of second graders and learns to love her family and friends well. She savors quiet moments with a cup of tea, when she’s able to catch those words and find the courage to write them down.

 

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