I Went to Meet a Tree

I learn from the Italian Mama about an oak tree in our neighborhood that's over 200 years old.  It's a ten minute stroll from my house, and I've never seen it.  This is why every neighborhood needs an Italian Mama who knows the secrets.  She's the one who told me where to find the hidden vernal pond.  She's the one who knows this land.

I'm thinking about the oak tree all morning.  I have to see it; I have to touch it; I have to thank it for being here all this time, witnessing lives lived right here.  My friend and I see the oak tree's arms raised above the houses, and she takes off running.  "There it is!  It's right here!" she cheers and points.  I run behind her, full of joy and awe. (Every neighborhood also needs the kind of friend who not only agrees to walk with you to meet a tree, but who also runs with joy at the sight of it.) 

We're going to meet a tree! 

With those wide branches, it feels like the arms of God bestowing a blessing upon my head. 

Oak Tree over 200 years old

You have to dance around a bit when you stand next to something this big. You have to step way back to capture the whole thing.

But you also have to lean in close and run your fingers along the veins and wrinkles of its skin. 

I love ancient things.  I love the physical evidence that time passes and that new generations come and old ones die.  In 200 years, another woman and her friend will run and dance around this old oak tree.  I'm aware, suddenly, of my own mortality.  But I'm equally aware of one thing:

I'm here right now.

Psalm 90 requests, "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom."  As I touch the old oak, I know my days here are numbered.  The tree makes me step back. 

I number the days, anticipating and recording the wonder of God, as sturdy and expansive as the oldest oak in our town. I'm full of joy as I stand with my friend, and I can't wait to tell the Italian Mama what it felt like to see the tree.

Once again, I learn that living with flair has nothing to do with fame, prestige, or wealth.  It has everything to do with beauty in community. 


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Do you know the oldest thing in your town?  When you visit it, do you become aware of your own mortality?

If We Had a Mile

On the walk to school, a normally shy and withdrawn little girl comes to my side. 

"Guess what?" she asks, her eyes huge. She watches me with her mittens folded together and her boots kicking the ice. 

"What?  Tell me everything," I respond (because I have a whole mile to listen and nothing to do but walk with her).  And then, I learn all about dolphins. 

Dolphins.  That was the door that let me into her heart.  I think about how--if only I had known--I might have asked about dolphins last year. 

If only I had known!  I realize that every person I meet today has a deeply held love of something.  Maybe it's dolphins or coconuts or turtles or guitar.  I want to make the kind of time and space to hear about it. 

I want to give you a whole mile today. 

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If you had a mile to talk, what would you want to talk about today? 

The Littlest of Treats

This morning after church, we visit the grocery store and let our daughters run to the very back where all the bins of "penny candy" sit.  For just a few coins, they can pick out chocolates or taffy or jelly beans of any flavor.  They fill a little bag, weigh it on the scale, and print out the price tag.

My daughter feels as if she's hit the jackpot in chocolate.  She finds chocolate made to look exactly like smooth pebbles.  She holds up her bag of candy while I put the price sticker on it:  35 cents.  My oldest has found green gumdrops, and for 19 cents, she's happy for the entire afternoon.

How much does it take to add a treat to the day?  Something little--under a dollar--can make an ordinary Sunday seem different. 

Living with flair means we don't forget the power of the littlest of treats. 

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What's something that brings you pleasure that costs less than 50 cents?