This week, during a rainy, windy evening, suddenly there was a loud and thunderous noise. Jumping up to look out the window, the street and lantern lights made visible a blur of branches and leaves on a large oak tree as it made its way down to the ground. Thankfully, despite the cars traveling in both directions on the road, at the time, no one was hurt. Traffic ended up being re-routed and within hours the Department of Public Works pushed all the debris off the road so that cars could once again travel freely up and down the street.

Now, this tree had a very large limb dry up during months of drought in the area and in the weeks prior to this one, it had partially fallen away from the trunk. From the street, one could see it was resting on the ground while still hanging on, as if by a thread. However, it wasn’t until the remainder of the tree fell to the ground, that one could see the dried-out limb not only hanging on still, but also looking like a giant pair of legs, perhaps trying to run by or break free from the rest of the tree.

Today, taking in the sight that lies beyond construction barrels put into place to forewarn or keep back passers-by, but seeming more like a beacon calling forth, it’s interesting how these legs and their trunk appear so much bigger than they seemed when the tree was standing tall. It seems there’s so much more to discover about them now that they are down to earth, unmasked in a sense. Their depth, their breadth, their character, shine brighter than before… legs posing as if in an athletic move of some kind or another. Are they coming? Are they going? Maybe they’re doing both. Or, perhaps, it’s a maneuver, careful to resist trampling the branches and leaves all around them.

Shifting focus, fallen branches spread about, pointing in many ways; some with shriveled, brown leaves holding on, and then others with green or yellow leaves, holding on as well. Common ground on the ground, connected at the core, together. Next, a splintered trunk displaying hearty, woody layers that, though broken, still look fresh and full of life.

Imagine now, all these things once hidden, or less likely to be noticed, now laying on or partly resting on the floor, as if drawing closer to one another, to reveal an image not of heaven, but of faith on earth.

My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. – Psalm 121:2