A Lesson of Surrender in Ponderosa Pines

I wash the dishes—cocoa mugs, spoons, and the chili pot—in two inches of dishwater, conserving the limited water we packed for camping. We are in a meadow lined with Ponderosa pines near Mormon Lake, Arizona, a trek we have made with other people from our church for more Labor Days than I can remember.

The day has been breezy, a welcome change from the 104-degree temps in the Valley of the Sun. Earlier I had tried to photograph the wildflowers that had popped up after the recent summer monsoons. The stems danced to the wind’s bidding, making it difficult to capture the delicate fleabane, goldenrod, purple aster, and orange-red paintbrush.

Even the small trees around our campsite bend in the breeze. At first I thought the giant Ponderosa pines remained unfazed, until I gazed heavenward at the boughs rustling fifty feet above the ground. Like a mother holding a small child, each trunk remained stationary as the upper torso swayed a lullaby back and forth. Back and forth.

Trees know the lesson of bending and surrender.

My youngest son leans against one of these Ponderosas, identifiable by the distinctive orange-red trunk splotched with black crevices. He strums a guitar I have owned since I was 18, although the instrument is older than that—a 1963 Gibson. The guitar’s voice has only improved with age.

My son strums the G chord, transitions two fingers for Em, before moving to the C and resolving back to G.

I lean not on my own understanding

My life is in the hands of the maker of heaven.

He sings the words of Nothing I Hold Onto by Will Reagan, echoing the words of Proverbs 3:5-6, a verse my mom penned in the front of my Bible about trusting in the Lord in all things. That Bible also left home with me at 18. I did not know much about trusting then. Or surrender. I especially did not know the surrender and trust of a mother who releases the child she has held and swayed in the bending wind.

Mom first sang the surrender words to God while living far from home at a boarding school at age 13. As a young teen, I sang the surrender words, not realizing then how many verses were yet to be sung. Now, two generations after his grandmother, my son sings the surrender words, at age 21.

The words are different, but perhaps the tune is the same, sung from surrendered hearts.

I give it all to you God, 

Trusting that you'll make something beautiful out of me.

A slight breeze lifts a corner of the song sheet as my daughter joins in the song with a soothing alto.

In the past weeks I have watched my son wrestle with a hard place of trust. Of surrender. My heart has ached for him. We are past the age of holding and swaying. Of rocking and lullabies. He is a man grown and I must trust the swaying and holding to the One to whom he surrenders.

Now, as I listen to him strum on a guitar I have played during my own soul searching, I understand the choosing of the scripture my mom penned in the front of my Bible when I was 18. For the first time I know the words were not only for me as the one leaving. The words were also a reminder for the one remaining.

I am in that season of mothering.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. – Proverbs 3:5-6 NASB

Loving everything about this pic of me and my sister as we head out for a month of camp. My family home in the background. The car. The suitcases, one with a Concordia college sticker from when my parents had it in college!! The cloth sleeping bags. My Dorothy Hamill haircut. Classic 1970's. And in one hand - my guitar.

I climb into my sleeping bag and zip the tent flap closed. My son and daughter are still singing the words as I fall asleep under the starlight as the pines sway in the wind.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

For all you moms and dads in the continual verse of letting go. Of trusting. Of surrender. My heart is with you.