Evening is the very best time to visit Boulder Springs here at camp. It’s cooler then, the wildlife is just starting to get active again after the hot afternoon, and it’s quiet because the teenagers are all back in their cabins or headed to the Tabernacle for evening service. I’m not sure which I like better, though, the destination or the journey.
There is a copse of trees just before Boulder Springs that looks to me like something out of a movie. I can’t decide which movie, Lord of the Rings or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Either way, it’s just gorgeous, shady, still, and quiet, and I want to build a tiny log cabin right in the middle of it.
Last week, Hunter and I made nightly treks through that tiny grove to get to Boulder Springs, where we have our best summer talks. One night, I walked a little closer to the stream that runs along the left side and couldn’t help but notice all of the baby trees sprouting there. I counted at least six different kinds, although I couldn’t tell you what they were to save my life, and realized that the four or five-story giants above me were once that size and probably started out with a whole lot of little buddies like these guys.
So, what happened to the rest of them? From what I could tell, there was plenty of water and sunlight to go around, and the dirt looked dark and rich. Did they freeze? Was there a drought? Had they been trampled down? If so, how did the remaining trees survive? Why were they spared?
I can’t say for sure, but I’m guessing that their roots are just stronger, deeper.
The same group of trees looks very different from the Prayer Gardens up above. I like to go up there by myself and just watch them. When the slightest breeze blows through, they dance, their leaves rustling like taffeta skirts. Swaying slightly, they appear to link and unlink arms, lost in music only they can hear. In their own way, they seem to be worshipping, and I am always moved by the sight.
The little trees underneath don’t move much at all. Their roots aren’t deep enough yet. It must take a lifetime of digging and reaching to earn the privilege, to gain that kind of freedom.
I’m jealous.
I want to live like that, worshipping with abandon, sensitive to the slightest prompting of the Holy Spirit, eager and ready to obey, bending to His will without fear of breaking, oblivious to the watchful eyes and opinions of others.
Someday.
Right now, I’ll keep on digging and reaching; my roots aren’t quite deep enough yet.
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