I want to be an oak tree. And I want to raise oak trees.

I want roots that run deep. I want my acorns to fall nearby and plant roots that intermingle with mine.

Every bit of my flesh longs to stay put in the same place and for my children to stay in that place as well. I’m not even particularly picky about the specific location of that place. I’ve moved enough times that I have no ties that bind.

Yes, an oak tree sounds like the perfect life for me and mine.

Except, it isn’t.

I had the strangest thought as I sat in church. I sat listening to the sermon and looking around at familiar faces and I felt God whisper.

I didn’t call you to be an oak tree. I called you to be a wishing flower.

But a wishing flower has such shallow roots. A wishing flower is quick to release from the stem and fly whichever way the wind blows. A wishing flower doesn’t cling to the earth and it is quick to scatter.

While my flesh longs to be an oak tree and to raise oak trees, my soul knows that I am to be a wishing flower and to raise wishing flowers. It terrifies me, friends, but I am committed to living unafraid.

I am to hold loosely to the things of this earth and to teach my girls to do the same. We are to be quick to fly when we feel the breath of God blow even if it means we scatter. Just typing that sentence brought tears to my eyes because I long for my girls to always be close. Yet, I long even more for them to be close to God because that is the only place peace is found.

I can do a lot for them. I can give them a lot. I can serve them a lot. But I can’t give them peace. I can’t give them purpose. Only God can do that.

So, as much as it scares me, they are far safer living lives as wishing flowers in the hands of God than to live as oak trees in my back yard.