And there it was, this old scarred tree, burnt, wounded and vacant, waiting to be filled, praying to be whole. Among a forest of blossoms and ancient pillars abundant in leaves it would seem to have stood out in the worst way.
What may have been considered the most ugliest of creations, to me, became the most beautiful, the most relevant, the most important, the most likely to be me in another life…
This tree would never audibly speak no matter how hard I’d try to channel my inner Pocahontas, yet it still told a story worth a thousand words. What had marred it so visibly made it so worthy of wonder.
Questions came to mind… almost in endless numbers. How did this happen? How did it survive? How did it manage to still stand so strong, head still high, hands still reaching towards heaven….?
I am that tree, broken yet whole, scarred yet healed, humbled by circumstance yet still standing, head high and hands still reaching towards heaven.
Mended, strengthened, and filled by the greatest power ever known.