Here is a little bit of prose inspired by one of my readers, Jackie Goulette. I feel I didn’t quite do it the justice her idea deserved, but perhaps it is a start for something more in the future. Through my struggled attempt to convey my heart in this piece, I hope He shines through despite me. It was so fun to receive a request. If you would like to see a blog post on a particular topic or theme, please email me at email@example.com. I would love to hear your suggestions. What do you all want more of? Less of?
If He Were A Tree…
The breeze rustled the brittle leaves still hanging tight though curled and browning. First one tree then another, down an invisible line like old biddies passing gossip from one house to the next. Whispered secrets.
Relishing the warm sun cutting the autumn cool, I strolled onward in search of the tree. I wove between the trunks, surveying.
First there was the willow with its lithe branches offering a secret place, and roots so deep they sought Earth’s core.
Though it held promise I passed by.
So perhaps it was the towering oak. Stately. Reaching for the heavens. The king of a tree scattered acorns across the ground. It’s progeny a symbol of hope for future generations.
However, if I was going for stately, I’d go across the country to pick out the redwood from the coast of California. Stretching so high that I cannot see its crown. Evergreen. Constant. Its sheer size a marvel for the ages.
I walked around the corner of my own home. A sweet little cove in Tennessee. The autumn colors a little drab from the drought.
A bright and cheery maple. My child perched in the branches, laughing. “Mom, look how high!”
Yes. The maple with branches low enough for a child to reach. Limbs spaced just so you have to stretch a little to reach new heights. That is the tree.
In the spring its arms a haven for new life and growth.
In summer, a hideaway from the heat.
In fall, a wonder with its flaming beauty.
And winter, though cold and dreary it remains a constant fixture. The climber perches in the bare branches for all to see.
My perspective of the maple in my yard may change with the seasons. But, it is and always will be the same tree.
So, if for some reason God was of the humor to come down and be a tree for a day, He would be the maple with branches low enough to climb. For though he has unfathomable depths like the roots of a willow, is stately like the oak, and with unreachable heights like the redwood, I have a feeling He would lower himself to be the little tree in my front yard so I could climb, reaching for higher branches with all the wonder of a child.
After all, it is what He’s desired from the beginning. To be sought, and to be known.
Thanks for reading. For Fiction Friday I’ll share the ACFW November new releases. Check it out if you are looking for something good to read. And next week, be prepared. I’m taking on the so-called, “War on Christmas.” I know..I know…I’m personally opposed to celebrating Christmas until after Thanksgiving. Poor little Thanksgiving gets overlooked :(. But, I saw my first war on Christmas post in my Facebook feed, so its time. It is a post I’ve been prepping and researching for a while and I’m really excited to share.
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