The Spirit Moves In Wondrous Ways

Fall had arrived, a chill in the air the telltale omen.  Birds winging south, leaves transforming, squirrels collecting acorns in diligent anticipation of winter’s onset. 

One particular acorn, a forgotten jewel, found its home in the fertile, damp soil along a riverbank. A mighty river, measured not by its size but by the stories it had carried, stories of unique and universal truths gathered across the lands blessed by its flowing waters.

Waters that nourished souls, waters that passed on their secrets to that acorn, waters that saw it sprout and grow into a young sapling.  Youthful curiosity, awed in imagination by the stories the waters shared of the mighty oaks upstream, dreams of one day being home to the nesting eagles, fishers from the sky. 

Seasons pass, growing strong, putting down roots that run deep beneath the river. Now hearing stories of the passing salmon following ancestral paths, journeying to their destiny, replete with fearsome accounts of the open sea. Listening as the waters pass, shared tales of the playful river otters teaching the growing tree that life’s meaning is abundant with joy and wonder.

As it happens, one day after many winters, the mighty oak caught a glimpse of its own reflection in the passing waters. Acknowledging the scars of many storms in its bark, roots once deep, now exposed bare as the river too had not escaped the wear of years. 

It was time for the oak to convey its narrative to the passing waters, to move the way of its ancestors. To yield to the acorns and saplings in their youth, to recount the stories they were destined to hear. Stories that cultivate contemplation, understanding, reconciliation, and connection to the larger, divine narrative of which we all are a part.

And it was the season to praise the God of all creation for the blessing of a humble but full life. A life that was graced to hear and be heard, to nourish and be nourished, to have been and to be, redeemed.