Cone Complexity

Each morning when I take my daily walk, pinecone-laden evergreens greet me. They invite me to notice their stateliness, their straightness, their structuredness. And they invite me to notice how they carry their piney children.

Each parent tree holds its cones differently. Some evergreens grow their coney children in large clusters, some in small clumps, and some grow them singly. Some trees hide their cones among the needles while others boldly display them from the ends of their branches. Some bear cones that are light-colored and flexible; others bear cones that are dark and rigid. There are inch-sized cones, eight inch-sized cones, and all the inch sizes in between. There are roundish cones and longish cones. There are cones that prick the fingers, cones that welcome the hand, cones that are closed, cones that are open, and there are sappy cones.

These cones and their parents captivate me. I am unable to pass them by without giving them the eye. I think of their Creator and mine. This is a Creator who seems to be unconcerned with uniformity. Rather intentional complexity seems to describe the Creator of pinecones and their parent trees.

 If the Creator is invested in complex cones, I have to believe that a similar or greater investment is placed in my complex self. If my complexity is the intentional action of the Creator, then I have permission to be complicated in my emotions, my thoughts, my choosings, my doings, and whatever else tends to be multifarious. In other words, God thinks that my complex self is an “okay” place to be.