"My" tree

They will be like a tree planted by the water
    that sends out its roots by the stream. 
It does not fear when heat comes;
    its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought 
    and never fails to bear fruit. --Jeremiah 17:8

This is "my" tree.

We have been friends for over five years now, since it was a wee sapling of a tree. It is a cottonwood, I do believe.

It has taken up residence at Lakewood Park, right next to the boardwalk behind and Lake Erie before, and right across the bricks from "my" bench.

When we first met, I spent a lot of time on my bench. God had begun messing with my life, and I would come up here, sometimes during my lunch break from school, trying just to find answers from God.

Yeah. Some days better than others.


The boardwalk was pretty new then. Greenery was just starting to establish itself. But here was this little twig of a tree, poking its way amongst the boulders and bricks, and it caught my eye.


Its stubborn assertiveness was undeniable. And it knew it would be stronger, more true, growing beside the waters of this Great Lake.


But as I spent more time there, as my soul began to find quiet once in awhile, I watched this little tree more closely and began to observe a very strange phenomenon.


This tree, this cottonwood planted beside the water, was different. 


Even when there was no breeze to be felt, even when I stared at other trees nearby watching-- wondering if they, too, might be moving, this little cottonwood would be the only one whose leaves would catch the breeze and tremble.


The slightest presence of air movement, and those leaves would jiggle and jump, jitterbugging and jiving in the midday (or morning, or evening) sun.

I came to think of it as the Holy Spirit tree. And I began to desire to be just like it, excited and dancing at even the gentlest touch of the Spirit.


We seek the Lord's presence, we ask for a "sign" of his light in our lives-- but so often, what we really desire is something big. A marching band response. You know-- Lord, if you want me to walk down a different path, could you just part the lake before my eyes and let me walk that new path dry and safe?


But today, I have chosen to channel my inner Steve Martin and "think small." (Goodness. I just dated myself, didn't I. . . .) 


In the smallest things, there are miracles no less astounding than in the beauty of a sunset.


In a tree that quivers when all others stand still, the presence of God's Holy Spirit is even more pronounced-- if we have eyes to see.


This morning, I set off on my walk, not sure where I was going, and wound up on my bench. It had been quite a while. And as I sat and watched-- the miracle continued. All the nearby trees, also grown bigger and stronger-- but no wiser-- barely twitched in the cool morning breeze. But my cottonwood was absolutely thrilled to see me, and was not afraid to show it. 


How I have missed that tree! (Seemed the feeling was mutual.)


And as I sat on my bench, as if to add to the scene, a young sparrow flew in and landed at my feet. It cocked its head my way, hopped a bit closer. I sat stock-still, almost afraid to breathe, as it hopped closer still, then up on my bench! It came up on the back of the bench, hopped about a foot away from my ear, and stopped. Sat cocking its head left and right, peeped-- and flew away.


I got the message. Did you? 

Oh, the Wonder of it all

Where do you go to find God? Where might God find you?


Thank you, Lord, for eyes that see, for an imagination unafraid to dream. We cannot become what we cannot imagine. Thank you for showing us bits and pieces of-- you. Amen.