What the heart of a stump can teach us
It seemed solid. Massive. Almost indestructible. You suspected nothing looking at it from the outside.
And then it opened.
The heart — that dense, living wood that should have been there — was nothing more than crumbly, blackened matter. A shell. Eaten away from the inside by something infinitesimal: a nail. A tiny point, driven in one day, perhaps by accident, perhaps without thinking. And that microscopic breach was enough. Decay crept in, progressively, silently. The tree continued to stand. It looked fine. But it was hollow.
I couldn’t help thinking of our spiritual lives.
How often do we stand upright — looking good on the outside, respectable, even exemplary — while something hollows us out inside? A small compromise we’ve allowed ourselves. A habit we’ve let settle. A breach we haven’t taken seriously because it seemed so insignificant compared to the strength of everything else.
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
Proverbs 4:23 (ESV)
Sin does not work through grand gestures. It works through infiltration.
The good news is that the rot can be removed. That there is a restoration that doesn’t just repaint the façade but renews from the inside. That’s what Christ does — not a makeover, a re-creation.