I spent the past few weeks with my family in the mountains of Colorado. Every summer we retreat to a cabin there, which was built by my wife's great-great grandmother nearly 100 years ago. It is simple and rustic – the water comes straight from the creek – but it is hard to imagine a lovelier place to be in these dog days.

The house sits on the side of a cliff overlooking evergreen hills. On the property are Ponderosa Pine and Douglas Fir, Lodgepole Pine and Blue Spruce. Nearly all the trees were there when the house was built, so these are tall trees that have kept sentinel for centuries. One tree, though, is the pride of the family and the icon of this place. It is a small, gnarled pine growing from a large bolder right next to the house. The tree rises from a crack in the middle, twisting but a few feet in the air before spreading its small canopy of branches and needles. It is like an oversize bonsai, which nature, rather than any person, has cultivated.

Among all the trees on the property, it is the smallest. And though I've been visiting that place with my wife for 18 years, it is the same size now as when I first admired it. In fact, none of the family recall it looking any different over the years. There are photographs of the house from the late 1930s, and the tree is identical to today. It may well be the oldest tree around, though it rises but a fraction of the height of its neighbors.

It has become my custom every summer to pray with that tree. I scramble up the bolder and sit next to it, my hands touching the rough bark on the twisted trunk. And then I ask God to let the wisdom of the tree speak to my soul. I ask for grace to grow where I am, rather than coveting the seemingly "better" situations others have. I ask for trust to keep going, even though it may seem like I'm not getting anywhere, and faith to not worry when it seems like nothing is happening. I ask for humility to embrace even difficult circumstances, and eyes to see God's goodness and blessing in places that are not obvious. And I ask for my roots to be so deep in Christ that I may be nourished, no matter how rocky life may seem. Yes, that tree is one of the most important spiritual teachers I've ever known.

Life with God is not always a perpetual journey upward into the sky. God does not promise to steadily increase our grandeur, nor that our blessings will always be recognizable. More often, life with God is like a tree growing from a rock. We hold fast, day by day, year by year, slowly growing deeper, patiently tapping into the wellspring of life. We may not exhibit all the things that the world celebrates as marks of greatness, but we know a peace that passes understanding and a stability that endures all the storms of the world. And over time, while others may rise higher nearby, we are able to become something magnificently beautiful, a testament to the goodness and grace of God.