Snags

Death leaves holes.

It leaves a raw place inside the heart, it leaves an empty place in the bed, it leaves a bare patch of soil in the forest, it leaves a niche open to be filled.

Death makes space. It makes a cavity.

In the forest, when a tree dies still standing upright, ecologists call it a snag. Snags often become hollow as the inner wood is eaten away by decomposers, or develop a network of tunnels beneath the surface thanks to the insects that either caused the death in the first place, or took advantage of the vulnerable wood after life had already left. Snags sometimes look ugly--ragged, broken pieces of potential firewood amidst all the healthy living trees.

But snags have ecological importance. They provide homes for animals such as large birds and raccoons. Woodpeckers come and gorge on the insect meals they contain. Fungi that were before repelled by the tree's protective bark now have a chance to sprout and disperse their hyphae (root-like structures) throughout the wood. Death can provide a home to others who need it.

When a snag finally crumbles under its own weight--the result of too many woodpecker drill sites and silently disseminated moss rootlets and hungry arthropods--it leaves an empty space in the forest.

The snag is decomposed by a continual parade of organisms until it has been totally transformed back into its building block molecules, and it looks like what it truly is--dirt.

That's what we are. Dirt. From dust we came, and to dust we shall return. We are made of the same building block molecules as the trees, the insects, and the soil. And the physical part of us ultimately reverts to Square One.

Sometimes, our souls can head that way, too. We allow the sorrows and the troubles to consume us--slowly eat their way through us--cause our hearts to crumble in on ourselves. Until we become a pile of dirt. Unable to feel anything. Unable to grow.

But when we have been carved into a maze of tunnels, a myriad of cavities--we can allow life to enter and thrive. When we lose the one we love, we can take the mourning and channel it into a passion for others who are in that place. We can take the death of self-love and channel it into servitude for the good of our family and community. We can open up our hearts full of holes and let others come in who need a word, a hug, a conversation full of mercy and grace.

When a tree falls in the forest, or a snag decomposes, sunlight comes streaming down through the canopy. The rotting wood forms rich, new soil. And new trees--baby trees--can begin their lives. They pop up and reach out for the sun and the rain. They take root in the ruins of their ancestors.

Ultimately, the part of us that inhabits this world will return to dust. We will die, physically. The spiritual part of us remains eternally--in heaven, for those who cling to Christ. But we can still leave a legacy behind. We can still leave rich soil for the ones who come after us. Our death doesn't need to leave just a void. By God's grace, our lives can provide a space in which others can grow.

I want to ask God where He wants me to leave a cavity.