The Greatest Mystery

From the dead, comes life.

Nobody is inclined to believe this. We mourn death as if it were the final word of the universe. But from death can arise some of the best things of life. Even the loss of a loved one -- five years, ten years later -- can produce beauty in those who remain.

Not only does the decaying core of this massive stump provide the nutrients for the new, tiny tree to grow -- until the old one died, the new one could never have grown in that place.

Death brings life. It's one of the fundamental rules of a fallen Earth. We track it all the way to the cross, and the powers of Satan certainly did not see that one coming. It was the mystery they could not predict, could not fathom. God would kill His own Son? From that death would erupt life, exponential life, eternally, for a host of sinful ingrates? Who concocted such an outrageous plan?

When my days smell of death the way a a shoe smells of dog poop, I remind myself: God is the great redeemer of all lost things. He'll bring life out of it yet.