the theology of trees..

I’m no tree hugger, but I love trees.

Picking up Carlon form school is a relatively short walk, ten to fifteen minutes. Yesterday I had my two little monkeys with me and I was pushing the stroller as they walked/ran (I bring the stroller because they can never seem to make it both ways by foot). We were partly bundled, ear muffs for the boys, gloves for me and I was glad because the wind was picking up and the air was wet - it is October in northwestern BC after all. Down our street to the end and turn left to the short trail and then right through the “shortcut” says Iain, although it’s not, then left to cross the street to the school. When the weather cooperates it really is a lovely walk; quiet neighbourhood, trees abundant. And of course in October, the trees have their moment don’t they?

    “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers” says Anne Shirley. And she wasn’t talking about pumpkin spice lattes.

October, thankfully, is so much more than that. She was speaking of the season itself, nature, what God had handmade.

October, for most of the Northern Hemisphere, is a magical month. The air turns crisp, this is where the wet air comes in, the cold brings an ice to the air that is palpable. Storms rush through; rain and wind cleaning the air. The trees change colour, the deciduous trees start to turn to glory and for the first time I’ve noticed that even the evergreen trees seem to get darker. But, oh my, the maples and birches and alders and fruit trees, and these are just the ones in my neighbourhood.

I walked past a particular maple on my way to the school. The leaves were yellow and the sun was streaking through and I was trying to drink it in and keep and eye on my boys. I was wishing I’d brought a camera but not everything can or should be captured. But, I took a breath and tried to take a mind picture. The breeze had kicked in and the leaves were flitting on the branches, slowly being worked loose, the tree, forced to shed it’s beauty. I took a breath and just loved it. As much as the maple has many varieties and colours though, my favourite is the birch. All year long.

In the winter, when they stand stark and naked with only their black stripes hoping to be noticed and at the same time trying not to be seen. Then in the spring I look to them again, waiting for their silvery green leaves to appear - the hopeful new beginnings, new mercies, new starts, new grace. In the middle of summer the wind blows and the leaves move and sparkle like glitter in a snow globe. I know when the sun shines warm on me I feel glittery, like nothing can get me down, even the air feels happy. And in the fall, oh boy. The pale golden yellow they turn, and a zephyr picks up and shimmers the leaves and it makes me think of jazz hands. (yes, that’s how I think) I feel it too, the winter is coming around the corner. It’s touching our skin and we are a snap away from feeling it in our bones. So we hold on to our joy in brace for the bleak.

Up here we collect trees to give us warmth in the winter. They are such a versatile part of creation. They house us, warm us, feed us, shade us and provide mediums for our creativity. They are here to serve us and we go through our lives not totally appreciating how alike we are. Or at least, should be like the trees.

God created us with as much variety and as much purpose.

House. Feed. Warm. Shade. Provide. Lay bare. Dazzle. Glory.

In His name, go forth and be like a tree.