Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it; let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them. Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy; they will sing before the Lord. ~ Psalm 96:11-13
I do not live near rolling hills. No towering mountains are nearby. No rivers, no lakes. Nothing that you would think extraordinary. No priceless property. When I open my back door, all I see are trees.
Spring and summer fill our land with a velvety-green canopy, occasionally spotted with delicate white flowers. The trees lend themselves to the summer breezes as instruments for the most soothing music I know. And the backyard becomes shadowed and cool.
Now, I have never really considered myself the “one with nature” type, but I have always been mildly obsessed with trees. It began years ago while I was climbing my front-yard plum tree with my big sister to retrieve our afternoon snack. And it continued into a need to be surrounded by trees wherever I moved.
I am not the only one. Poems have been written about the solitude and strength of trees. Stories and tales about them have endured through many generations. But when I look at them, I see signs. Signs that point to a Creator and His character. They are what I need Him to be and ultimately what He is. Bigger than me, stronger than me, more generous, and wholly comforting.
My attachment to these message bearers, and my life in rural places where they dwell, leaves me with questions: Did He know this about me? In His grace, did He provide them as the geography for my story? Did He plant my feet in the place where His creation spoke the loudest to my soul?
I don’t know; maybe one day I will. But for now, I just thank God for the trees.