Ecclesiastes 2:6

Letters to the Faithful - Ecclesiastes 2:6

Berean Standard Bible

I built reservoirs to water my groves of flourishing trees.

King James Bible

I made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees:

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To the beloved of God in every city and countryside, to those who walk the narrow road of the crucified and risen Christ, and to all who seek wisdom in a world of vanities, grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. I write to you as one servant among many, constrained by love and compelled by truth, drawn again to the voice of Solomon in his solemn meditation in Ecclesiastes 2:6, where he recounts: “I made pools of water from which to water the forest of growing trees.”

Though brief, this verse is a window into a soul that knew the heights of worldly achievement and the depths of human longing. It is nestled within a passage where Solomon, the wisest of kings, lays bare his grand pursuits—gardens, houses, vineyards, wealth, entertainment, and every delight the eyes could see and the flesh could crave. Yet each endeavor, however ambitious or successful, was ultimately labeled hevel—a vapor, a mist, a chasing after the wind. And here, in this verse, we see a striking example of the human attempt to build something lasting: “I made pools of water from which to water the forest of growing trees.”

Let us pause and consider the meaning and the weight of these words. Solomon is not merely talking about irrigation; he is describing a monumental effort to sustain life, to build something vast and green, something living and beautiful, something seemingly self-sustaining. He is not content to plant a single tree. No, he plants a forest. He does not wait on the rains of heaven alone; he builds the pools himself. He engineers a system, devises a structure, lays the groundwork for growth. By all appearances, this is wisdom in action. It is diligence, foresight, and ingenuity. And yet, it sits in the context of a chapter soaked in disillusionment.

What are we to learn, then, from this verse, in a time when many still build and plan, still dig pools and cultivate forests—though now with spreadsheets and strategies instead of stone and shovel? The message is not that such work is evil, nor that creation and stewardship are without value. Indeed, Scripture praises the labor of the diligent, and the garden imagery is a thread that runs from Eden to New Jerusalem. But Ecclesiastes exposes the undercurrent: that even the most impressive earthly accomplishments, if pursued apart from God, become empty echoes of eternity rather than true participation in it.

Solomon’s pools watered trees, but not his soul. He created systems that sustained vegetation, but they could not sustain his spirit. How many of us today labor under the same illusion? We build businesses, ministries, careers, homes, and reputations—forests of our own design—and we construct elaborate pools to nourish them. We read the right books, attend the right seminars, follow the right methods. We irrigate our dreams with discipline and resources. And yet, for all the effort, our hearts remain parched. We have created means of growth but forgotten the Giver of life.

The tragedy of Ecclesiastes is not in the failure of effort—it is in the realization that effort alone cannot yield meaning. Solomon had everything modern man pursues: success, pleasure, legacy. And still, he found it insufficient. The pools he built could not reach the dryness within him. That forest of trees, impressive though it was, became another monument to mortality.

And yet this verse is not without hope. For even in its vanity, it reflects the image-bearing impulse in us to cultivate, to steward, to bring order and fruitfulness out of chaos. The desire to plant, to build, to sustain—it is not wrong. It is holy when rightly aimed. But what Solomon lacked in this endeavor was not wisdom but worship. His work was magnificent, but it was self-contained. He built as one seeking satisfaction in the structure rather than the Savior.

So, dear brothers and sisters, how shall we live in light of this? Let us examine the pools we are building. What are they for? Who are they for? Are we constructing for the Kingdom or for our comfort? Are we planting forests that feed the world or monuments that feed our pride? And more deeply still, have we confused the work of our hands with the worth of our souls?

Let us take this passage as a call to realign. Build, yes—but build as stewards, not owners. Plant, yes—but plant what will outlive your own name. Dig pools, yes—but let them draw from the living water that only Christ provides. Do not confuse a flourishing forest with a flourishing soul. Make sure that what you nourish outwardly reflects what God is doing inwardly. For what profit is it to gain a landscape and lose your peace?

And practically, let us learn to submit every project, every dream, every venture, to the Lordship of Jesus Christ. Before you begin to dig, kneel. Before you map out the forest, ask the Gardener what He wants to plant. And as you work, do not look to the forest to define your worth—look to the cross. Let your labor be worship, your achievements be offering, your success be surrendered. The pools you build may water many trees—but only the Spirit of God can bring true life.

So I urge you, beloved, to walk in the wisdom that Solomon glimpsed but which we now see fully in Christ. Let your ambition be sanctified, your energy be directed by the Spirit, and your legacy be hidden in the One whose kingdom cannot be shaken. Let us build what echoes in eternity, not what fades in the mist. Let us water our lives not only with what we can construct, but with the Word of God, the fellowship of the saints, the disciplines of prayer and fasting, the mercy of repentance, and the joy of communion with Christ.

May you dig deep wells of intimacy with God, and may the forest that grows from your life be the fruit of abiding in Him. May you build and plant, not as one chasing after wind, but as one resting under the shadow of the Almighty. And when all is said and done, may you find not vanity, but victory—not emptiness, but eternal joy in the One who gives meaning to every pool and every tree.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with you all, now and forever. Amen.

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O Lord God Almighty, the Creator of the heavens and the earth, the One who gives breath to every living soul and causes rain to fall upon both the righteous and the unrighteous, we come before You with awe and humility, drawn by the witness of Your Word, and stirred by the solemn reflection of Your servant Solomon, who declared in Ecclesiastes 2:6, “I made pools of water from which to water the forest of growing trees.” O God, we do not come merely to ponder history or to muse upon the accomplishments of a king—we come to seek Your wisdom in our generation, to find truth in Your eternal Word, and to bring our hearts into alignment with Your eternal will.

You are the God who waters the earth, who sends forth streams in the desert and makes rivers in wastelands. You are the Source of every living thing, the Giver of growth, the Sustainer of all that lives. And yet, we confess that we, like Solomon, have often tried to build and nourish our own forests apart from You. We have dug our own pools, crafted our own systems, laid out our own blueprints, and poured ourselves into the projects of our hands—hoping that what we build will satisfy, that what we produce will endure, that what we plant will give us peace. But You, O Lord, are the only true source of lasting fulfillment. Without You, our pools run dry. Without You, our forests wither. Without You, our labor is vanity, our toil is hollow, and our dreams are dust.

So we cry out to You, God of all wisdom: teach us to see through the illusion of self-made success. Let the pools we build not become idols. Let the forests we grow not become fortresses of pride. Let the things we cultivate not crowd out the One who alone gives meaning to all creation. Deliver us from the deception that outward productivity can substitute for inward communion. Show us that no matter how expansive our gardens, how intricate our systems, or how fruitful our endeavors appear, all is vapor unless You are the center, the beginning, and the end.

Forgive us, Father, for the ways we have labored apart from Your voice. We have toiled in ministries while neglecting to pray. We have pursued influence while forgetting intimacy. We have built careers while losing sight of calling. We have managed outcomes while ignoring obedience. Have mercy upon us, Lord. Dismantle every monument we have built to our own name. Expose every motive that has grown crooked in secret. Redeem every wasted effort and bring forth beauty even from what was misaligned.

We thank You, Lord, for the honesty of Solomon’s confession. He did not hide his emptiness behind his accomplishments. He did not veil his dissatisfaction in the glory of his work. Help us to be just as honest, just as brave, to name our weariness, to confess our striving, to admit where we have sought life apart from You. Let us not be content to water trees if our own souls are parched. Let us not be impressed by outward growth if our roots do not go deep into Christ. Let us remember that the forest is Yours, the water is Yours, the growth is Yours, and the glory is Yours.

O Spirit of God, awaken us to the sacredness of surrender. Teach us to labor from rest, to build from trust, to plant with expectation not in ourselves but in Your faithfulness. Let every pool we make be dedicated to Your purpose. Let every tree we nourish be a testimony of Your grace. Let every system we design be subject to Your leading. Baptize our work in humility. Saturate our plans in prayer. And let the forest of our lives be not a monument to man, but a garden where Your presence dwells.

We pray also for the Church—Your body in the world. So often we have mimicked Solomon's method without heeding his message. We have focused on results, appearance, expansion, while forgetting that You desire purity, intimacy, and faithfulness. We have built pools of strategy, watered programs and platforms, and yet our people are thirsty for the living God. Turn us again, O Lord. Let our gatherings be drenched in the rain of Your Spirit. Let our communities be rooted in the Word of Christ. Let our churches be forests not of machinery but of mercy, not of noise but of nurture, not of competition but of communion.

Let pastors, teachers, and leaders be like channels of living water—not cisterns filled by effort, but conduits of grace flowing from You. Let every ministry endeavor be born in the secret place and stewarded with trembling hands. Let every act of service be done with eyes fixed on Jesus, not on results. May we not labor in vain. May we not water what You have not planted. May we not build where You have not spoken. And if we have, Lord, tear it down in mercy and rebuild it in truth.

You, O Lord, are the Master Gardener. You planted Eden, and You will bring us to the garden of eternity where the Tree of Life grows and the river flows from Your throne. Let that vision shape our present. Let our work today reflect the values of that coming Kingdom. Let us be a people who plant with eternity in mind, who water with patience, and who live not for the forest itself, but for the joy of walking with You in it.

And when the day comes that we lay our tools down, when the building is done and the trees have grown tall, may it be said of us that we watered from wells not dug by human hands, but filled by divine grace. May it be said that our lives became gardens of righteousness, orchards of joy, places where others tasted and saw that the Lord is good.

So we give You our efforts, our blueprints, our strategies, our dreams. We lay them at Your feet. And we ask, not merely for success, but for significance—not merely for growth, but for godliness—not merely for fruit, but for faithfulness. Rain down, O God, upon every dry place in us. Let the pools we dig become springs of living water, flowing from the fountain of Christ Himself.

In the name of Jesus, our Wisdom and our Life, we pray. Amen.