I fled here Saturday morning on foot, as I would to a quiet cathedral midweek or the living room of elders not prone to many words but whose presence speaks volumes. Because for an introvert in the throes of change, people do not often feel the safest place to run. Conversation can easily dishevel the heart.
And because, some days I am drawn into the company of giant old trees and their wind-whispered secrets. So I come.
I found a large tree, downed some time ago, pointing up like the bow of a ship in the lake, and climbed aboard. In the middle of the trunk, a resting space beckoned me to sit and lean back against its branch. No one needs to teach a tree the gift of presence; they instinctively know, even after they have fallen. Without words, I knew this was God answering an unspoken plea to be held. And so, the tears came, sweetly.
There is something healing, too, in human skin to tree skin contact. It is not only humans that know how to hold the weary.
I left this tree, reluctant and grateful, heading to the forest. As I wandered deeper in, my skin tingled with the holiness of their presence, with the radiance of life itself, and my heart heaved a holy hush. It is oxygen for my soul, the breath of God pumping healing through my veins, here in the woods.
The birds covered the air with song, far enough removed from the ongoing soundtrack of city. And I thought, awash in wonder, God is in this place. I never want to leave.
Joining Small Wonder, the community at Kelly's, where we weekly reflect on moments of beauty and wonder in the everyday.