Ever since my childhood days, willow trees have been my favorite of the deciduous variety. They seem to hold a gentle power which can transport a person to another world. As a child, that was the only thing I had wanted to do – escape and have an adventure. So, years later, when I found myself living on property that housed a sweet Willow, I was ecstatic. Many times I would spread a blanket out under her long and flowing limbs and they would cradle my spirit within their warm embrace. My willow tree’s tears would softly fall around me, bathing me in her peaceful protection. As I would settle onto her strong lap, and lean against her sturdy trunk, it felt as if the arms of God held me tight, encouraging me to dream.
Willow’s long and weepy branches held wealth enough to buy me a first-class passage back to my childhood days, where adventures and dreams were as free as the air we breathe, and imagination was Mary-Poppins worthy.
The 180-degree circle of her graceful limbs sprouted green and yellow buds reminiscent of the bright beads on Bohemian-style necklace. Their magical potential to invoke dreams of other worlds and distant lands appealed to my inner lass. She had long been forgotten – lost among grown-up responsibilities and to-do lists.
When life barrels by us like a freight train carrying important cargo, I find myself wanting to make a quick getaway, as I did when I was a dark-haired, innocent little girl. Willow never disappointed that little girl tucked away inside this adult woman of God. She always allowed me freedom of expression – to cry, to laugh, to be angry, to be loud, and, to be quiet. She was a faithful friend, a sweet generator of dreams and a safe place for me to be me.
The Lord’s presence surrounded me many days, and gently covered me with Willow’s silent and steady shade. When the wind blew through her billowy branches, I felt safe and, oddly enough, accepted. She was a good tree, and I rejoice in the Lord for giving me the gift of my Willow. She was a sweet friend.