Proverbs 3:18 (NASB 1995)
“She is a tree of life to those who take hold of her, and happy are all who hold her fast.”
Revelation 22:2 (NASB 1995)
“On either side of the river was the tree of life, bearing twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”
Devotional
The Tree of Life first stood in Eden, offering eternal fellowship and unbroken communion with God. It reappears in Revelation, symbolizing the fullness of life restored in Christ. In Proverbs, wisdom is likened to this tree—vital, sustaining, and deeply rooted in the fear of the Lord.
To hold fast to God’s wisdom is to grasp life itself. This is not a transient, superficial life, but a life that endures, yields fruit, and brings healing. Just as trees are anchored in unseen soil, so our lives must be grounded in the eternal truth of God.
Are you partaking daily from this tree—seeking His wisdom, delighting in His Word, and walking in His ways? Or have you been drawn to lesser trees, bearing fruit that cannot satisfy?
The Tree of Life still bears fruit for those who come, and its leaves still heal the weary soul.
Roots That Hold
Up in the Smoky Mountains, where the mist clings to the hills like a shawl in the early hours and the rivers hum low through winding hollers, stood an old oak tree the townsfolk called the “Living Tree.” Nobody could rightly say just how long it had been there. Some reckoned it had outlived the old church down by the lane. Others claimed it was older than the tales passed down from granddad to grandson over campfires and front porches. But one thing all agreed on—the tree stood, season after season, strong and sure, like a sentinel of something eternal.
Miss Lila’s cottage sat not far from that oak, nestled in a little clearing where the sun found its way through the pines come morning. Her garden was small but full, blooming with marigolds, herbs, and the sweetest tomatoes for miles around. She wasn’t one for many words, but her presence was like balm to weary souls. Folks said she carried peace with her, like it was stitched into her apron or tucked into the folds of her voice. People with heavy hearts would often wander up her way, and after a spell on her porch, with a bit of sweet tea and soft talk, they’d leave a little lighter.
One crisp autumn afternoon, as the leaves turned gold and red and the mountain air sharpened with the promise of winter, a young man named Eli came up her path. He looked out of place in those hills, with city dust on his boots and a restlessness in his eyes. He hadn’t been home in years, hadn’t felt the dirt of the mountains beneath his feet since he was a boy.
Miss Lila was out back, hanging laundry in the breeze when she saw him. “Eli Jameson, is that you?” she called, her voice warm and surprised.
He tipped his head, a shy grin breaking through. “Yes, ma’am. It’s me.”
She motioned him over, wiping her hands on her apron. “You come sit, son. You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
He sat on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, and stared out at the hills. “I don’t rightly know what I’m doin’ here, Miss Lila,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been gone so long, runnin’ hard after dreams that led me nowhere. Feels like I’ve lost myself along the way.”
She handed him a glass of tea, the kind sweet enough to make your troubles pause. “Sometimes,” she said, settling into her rocker, “it ain’t about runnin’ after somethin’. Sometimes it’s about stoppin’ long enough to find what’s been with you all along.”
Eli took a long sip, eyes drifting toward the old oak. “I remember that tree,” he murmured. “Used to climb it as a kid, thought I could touch the sky from up there.”
She nodded, her eyes following his. “That tree’s never moved, Eli. Storms have come through—fierce ones—but it’s stood through ‘em all. Its roots go deep, way deeper than you can see.”
He sighed, his voice low. “I ain’t got roots like that, Miss Lila. I’ve been driftin’ too long.”
She looked at him, her face kind but firm. “You may not feel like it now, but roots can grow. Takes time, takes stayin’. Life don’t come from the driftin’. It comes from the holdin’ on. You got to plant yourself in somethin’ that don’t shake when the wind blows.”
Silence stretched between them, easy and full. The kind of silence that spoke louder than words.
That evening, Eli found himself walking back toward the Living Tree. The air was cool, the sky a soft indigo with stars just starting to blink awake. He reached out and laid a hand on the rough bark, feeling its strength. It was solid, steady—alive.
And in that quiet, under the shelter of its wide branches, something inside him broke loose. Not the kind of breaking that destroys, but the kind that sets free. Like a dam giving way, letting long-held waters flow again. He sank down at the base of the tree, back against its trunk, and let the stillness wash over him.
Words came, soft and halting at first—prayers he hadn’t spoken since he was a boy. Prayers that felt like home. He didn’t have all the answers, didn’t know what tomorrow would look like, but he felt something anchor deep in his soul. A knowing that life wasn’t in the runnin’, wasn’t in chasing every fleeting thing. It was here, in this place, with roots deep in the truth of a God who never moved. A God who stood strong when all else fell, who offered grace like living water and healing for the broken.
As the night wore on, Eli sat beneath that tree, the stars bright above him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt still. Not empty, but filled. Not lost, but found.
And there, in the hush of the mountains, with the river singing low and the leaves whispering in the breeze, he knew—life, true life, comes from roots that hold.
Reflection
Eli’s story is one of quiet return—not to a place, but to a truth he had long forgotten. Life doesn’t always turn on loud moments or sudden change; sometimes, it turns on stillness. On letting go of the runnin’ and allowing roots to grow deep. We are not called to drift endlessly but to dwell—to anchor our souls in the unchanging faithfulness of God. The Living Tree reminds us that storms will come, but what is rooted in Christ will stand. When we return to Him, we don’t find condemnation, but a place to belong, to begin again, and to live truly.
Key Takeaway
Life flourishes when rooted in God’s unchanging wisdom. Hold fast to Him, and you will bear fruit that endures.
Practical Application
Take time to seek wisdom from God’s Word. What areas of your life need deeper roots? Write down one way you can hold fast to His truth each day—through Scripture, prayer, or counsel—and commit to partaking of His life-giving wisdom.
Short Prayer
Dear Lord, plant me by Your truth. Let me grow strong in Your wisdom, bear fruit that glorifies You, and find healing in Your presence. Keep me rooted in You. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Closing Thought
The Tree of Life still stands, its branches stretched out in grace. Cling to it—and live.
Quote
“Wisdom is the tree that never withers, and its fruit feeds the soul that seeks.”