Lia, Daphne, Freda and Jason Slemons
“Before mountains had been shaped, before hills, I was brought forth. When he had not yet made earth and fields, or the first dust of the world, when he established the heavens, there I was, when he drew a circle upon the face of the deep, when he made skies from above, when he founded fountains of the deep, when he assigned his limits to the sea, that waters shall not transgress his command, when he marked the foundations of the earth, I was beside him, a master workman, and I was delighting day by day, rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in the world of his earth, and my delight was with the children of humankind.” – Proverbs 8:25-31
Every spring I am stunned by the overnight greening of birch buds. How they sneak up on me (again)? I’ve read the textbooks about a tree’s capillary system, but it feels like magic.
Our family backyard project last week drilled right into the magic, and now we can see, feel, and taste it. And collect it in jars, bags, and growlers. The birch are pumping sap by the bucketload! The invisible transformation is filling all the glass jars in the cupboard of containers that I ought to have thrown out by now and I’ve made a fire today just to enlist the woodstove in boiling it down to a sweeter solution. Free candy!
Are these invisibly vibrant trees full of wisdom? We don’t really know that from this Proverbs introduction to wisdom, but they were crafted by God and wisdom delights in that and with the children of humankind.
I wish that I could drill beneath the surface of this period of disorientation and see what magic, if any, is flowing to green the buds. Are we gaining confidence in truly asking and answering, ‘how are you doing?’ Are we noticing how a routine helps, or how it is better to toss it out and restart? Are we holding onto neighbors on the margin? Are we sharing suffering and sharing joy? Are we nurturing (or exhausting) patience? Is wisdom deepening our roots?
The birch have a surer purpose with their sap than I do. Some members of my family are lobbying to make syrup, but my kitchen fairy wand doesn’t appreciate a thermometer tether … although it could be another experiment. We boiled the heck out of it and sipped (or gulped) sweet spring tea this morning. The first cup we drank straight from the tree. The birch don’t need to know that their sap will bring leaves.
I wish that I knew when and what leaves will grow this spring, but I can be aware that life is flowing, and remember to drink some water.
Dear God, thank you for your invisible presence, both when I can’t feel you and when I am surprised by your gifts. Thank for you creating us to grow and to give. Help me trust that you are a guide who is present when we are entering new lands.
Lia Slemons is a wannabe skier who runs a lot. She works for the KMTA National Heritage Area on community trail connectivity. She is held together by her husband Jason and her daughters Freda (6) and Daphne (almost 3).