Happened to glance across the parking lot from The Altar and saw that my favorite tree has started to turn colors. It sits alone in the grassy corner of the lot, right at the bottom of the sledding bowl, with the historic Baldwin-Reynolds House hidden above it. In the autumn it radiates brilliant orange and red, gradually relinquishing its leaves until the last one falls, creating a carpet of orange-on-green. The winter snow graces the bare branches as it swirls and blows. My tree stands confidently, accepting the whiteness like a wedding veil. Spring brings the hints of green - then suddenly she is full and lush in the breezes, where she remains all throughout the summer. Now - the cycle begins again. I can watch from my favorite seat at the table just inside the prayer room door, or sitting on the sofa gazing through the lobby window that stretches from floor to ceiling and side to side, or walking down the hallway from the back rooms to the front bookstore. I have always loved this tree, ever since we moved to this abandoned plaza. Except it isnt abandoned at all. We are here. My tree is here. God is here. And the certainty of change is here. We are in a new season, we have weathered the storms, life is charging ahead.
Posted on: Wed, 17 Sep 2014 00:04:05 +0000
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