A Tale of Three Trees

Oct 18

Heart-Shaped Leaves and Angels Laughing

There is an enormous cottonwood tree near my house. It would take at least three people to join hands around its trunk. Maybe more, I’ve never tried. I walk past it at least once a day, most often with Edie. Sometimes I place a hand on the massive trunk as I pass by and imagine the history to which its branches have born silent witness. In the fall, I smile as I notice the heart-shaped yellow leaves it drops on the ground.

It’s an eastern cottonwood, named for its feathery white seeds. It’s also sometimes called a necklace poplar after the way the seed capsules resemble beads. Writing this, I learned that cottonwoods don’t live that long. Which makes me a little sad. And underscores that life is precious and not to be squandered.

Once, a young man sat with his back resting against the tree as I walked past. He was gazing upward, laughing with pure delight. “It sounds like rain when the leaves blow,” he told me. “It does!” I smiled. In all my trips past my tree, I’d never noticed. And he was exactly right. It did sound like rain. His joy was contagious, and we laughed together before I walked on, transformed by the holy moment. I’ve thought of the brief interaction many times since. If I’ve ever met an angel, I have no doubt it was then.

I wonder where the Creator is inviting you to find joy
in connecting with the world around you.

Pears Without Fruit and Wordless People

Not far from the cottonwood, another invitation is often present that requires a different kind of attention. My homeless neighbor Sean is frequently slouched on the sidewalk under the shade of an ornamental pear tree. He often positions himself near the community center’s power outlet so he can recharge his phone, his overflowing grocery cart nearby. Sean rarely speaks. He regularly stands and stares blankly into the distance. Or scrolls on his newly charged phone. Occasionally, he follows me or other neighbors a few paces. I think it’s his way of attempting human connection, but it can be disconcerting.

I would rather not pass by Sean. The way his soul is caught within itself means it won’t do to smile briskly, hand over an apple or other snack, and keep walking. Sean is my regular invitation have compassion for those who are broken more visibly than the rest of us. To refuse to pass by on the other side as the priest and Levite did in Jesus’ parable.

There are myriad moments in Jesus’ life when the sick or oppressed cried out to him. Being fully human, he sometimes got frustrated, his body and soul in need of rest and sustenance. But he never failed to turn toward the least with compassion (Mark 6:34). I’m always moved by the story of the leper. When he asks for help, Jesus does more than simply heal him. He reaches out and touches him (Luke 5:13). Contrary to some teachings, “no Jewish law forbids touching a person with leprosy,” though Josephus indicates it was frowned upon.[1] If Jesus isn’t flouting the law, which seems likely since he urges the man to follow instructions to become ceremonially clean, then what was happening? I think he’s demonstrating that the sick and broken are to be honored as humans worthy of care and connection. I wish I could reach out my hand and heal Sean and other homeless neighbors. I can’t do that but I can choose to see and offer cold water, a piece of fruit, bus fare, or simply an empathetic gaze.

I wonder how God is surfacing what is yours to do to bring
more compassion and healing for the broken or hurting around you.

Open Hearts and Yoga Poses

There is one more invitation I’ve been heeding. When a took our dog to puppy school., it was mostly me learning how to be a better human with my dogs. The trainer has emphasized the importance of standing tall, reminding me of my tendency to hunch over. I do it for all kinds of reasons. In kindergarten, I was a full head taller than my classmates. Now, I’m still often the tallest person in the room. While most of me loves that, I sometimes unconsciously try to make myself smaller. I don’t always have good posture when sitting at my computer. And when I’m feeling sad or overwhelmed, I often notice my shoulders slumped.

Part of the solution is attention, remembering that good posture has a host of benefits, physical and otherwise. (Here’s a great Amy Cuddy TED talk on the subject). I’ve been focusing on it several times a day, intentionally let my shoulders drop and my heart open forward. It’s a way of taking up space visibly and spiritually. To welcome the world around me as it is, full of incredible beauty and breathtaking suffering. Tree pose helps me attend to all this, helping me balance and making me holistically stronger. I like to welcome my childhood self and wave my arms around like branches. If you want to try it, here is an instructional video.

All three of these trees are part of my chance to connect and allow myself to be changed by the world around me. To refuse to remain aloof and distracted. To see, hear, and notice, ready to be delighted by whole the created world and her inhabitants of all shapes and sizes. In this, I get to follow the good Rabbi who, as Elizabeth Johnson wrote, “lives in tune with the natural world, knowing about growing seeds and harvests, clouds and sunsets, fig trees and weeds, sheep and mother hens.”[1]

What helps your heart and body be at peace and open to
the world around you?

PS I originally shared these reflections in the summer of 2021. My unhoused neighbor Sean has moved on, though I still see him a few blocks over sometimes. I still have plenty of neighbors without a set place to live that invite me into compassion like the one I talked about earlier this week who reminds me of the story of Jesus and the man from the Gaderenes.

And, as I said, when I wrote this, I learned Cottonwood trees don’t live too long. Last spring, I noticed Grandmother Cottonwood didn’t sprout as many new leaves. In late June, as I took Edie for an afternoon walk, I realized with a start what the steady buzzing of saws I’d been hearing all morning had been cutting. My breath caught and tears formed. I wouldn’t hear her leaves in the wind like a rain shower anymore. I wouldn’t be able to treasure noticing how her leaves made heart shapes on the grass in autumn.

A month before, I had noticed the tree was struggling. I told her then how thankful I was for her as I placed a hand on her broad trunk. By tomorrow, she may be gone. I will miss her dearly and I am grateful she graced the lives of many for as long as she did. I picked up a small branch with some leaves attached and added it to my prayer jar to remind me of all the prayers prayed with her trunk in view. Later, I found the perfect piece of bark to save as well.

with care,
terra

Hopeful Lament Turns A Year Old

A year ago, I got to share this book with the world. I’ve been full of wonder and gratitude at how you have received it!
To help me celebrate the book’s birthday, I’d be honored if you’d help me continue sharing it. Here are a few ways you could do that:

review it on Amazon or Goodreads
check it out from your local library (& if it’s not in the stacks, ask your library to add it!)
Download or rent the audiobook
Share this post
Buy a copy for a friend who needs it (that friend might be you!)

Coming Up

I am teaching the last cohort of Spiritual Accompaniment with Children alongside Lacy Borgo, Ellie Beatty, and other dear and trusted friends. She has been sensing for some time that her tenure of helming the course was ending. After much prayer, I’ve agreed to take on the course. I am humbled and honored and look forward to learning and growing with new students starting in fall 2025.

I’m also honored to join Portland Seminary students training to become spiritual directors as a supervisor once again starting later this fall.

What I’m listening to

Since I’m doing a lot of reading and writing lately, I’ve been favoring calming music without lyrics. Here are two favorites this fall: this one that was shared with me as part of a guided silent retreat and this one that pairs perfectly with a cup of herbal tea.

I also just started The Mystics Would Like a Word by Shannon K. Evans. I’ve only just gotten past the introduction and am already loving it!

I’ll leave you with a fall blessing from the one and only Mary Oliver:

Things are
changing; things are starting to
spin, snap, fly off into
the blue sleeve of the long
afternoon. Oh and ooh
come whistling out of the perished mouth
of the grass, as things
turn soft, boil back
into substance and hue. As everything,
forgetting its own enchantment, whispers:
I too love oblivion why not it is full
of second chances. Now,
hiss the bright curls of the leaves. Now!
booms the muscle of the wind.