There is a tree outside my window.
It protects me from the sun. I hear the wind blow through it and watch it shake and bow. Its roots run deep and snake through the earth. Each year, they get longer, and it gets stronger.
The roots and earth cling to one another.
I hear limbs clatter as wind rushes by, and the leaves, little mothers, shhh-shhhush them. Quiet down. All is well. The gusts get stronger and the tree bows to and fro out of respect for the wind. But it does not break.
It does not break.
A crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor. Isaiah 61:3 NIV