Oh these boughs, how they’ve been named so well. Strong enough to withstand the harshest conditions, yet humble enough to yield to the patterns of the wind.

To see them bow – their very namesake – awakens a sense of wonder. How they personify their nomenclature and show us over and over how to yield, if we will only pay attention.

Decade after decade, the same bough notices what the Wind is doing each day and presents itself as an offering, slightly shifting with each gust, until they are moving together as one. Each breeze never the same, but these old friends, the branch and the wind, know each other well. The bough holds wind patterns on its exterior, etched…marked…forever by this friendship. The tree may not know where the wind is going or where it has been, but the present moment is captivating enough to take in every ounce of it’s presence.

And the wind itself, as it navigates through these branches, is somehow able to release it’s roar in a way it otherwise wouldn’t have. While it can sing it’s song on its own, it wants the partnership of the trees. It finds pleasure in becoming entangled in the crevices of the boughs of the trees, swarming through twigs, branches and leaves, perhaps even the nests that it houses, releasing a sound of praise in this dwelling. How it is overtaken by the lungs of the trees breathing in it’s riches and exhaling it to the world.

This beautiful story of partnership is right outside of our doors, hidden within the wrinkles of the mountainside, revealing a glorious friendship available to each and every one. We are His Beloved, His Mighty Oaks of Righteousness. We have a good Father and an intentionally creative Creator.

“But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.”
John 14:26

“Don’t you realize that you have become God’s inner sanctuary and that the Spirit of God makes his permanent home in you?”
1 Corinthians 3:16

Fall showcases the splendor of “becoming”.

I love summer – the warmth, the green, the gardens, the long days, the bathing suits hanging on the deck. But there’s just something about the transition into the cooler temperatures, the late night bonfires and the leaves changing colors that makes my heart swoon.

The deep reds, yellows, oranges and purples that adorn the trees seem to set them on fire, pulling my gaze towards this artistry before the colors blanket the floor of the earth. There’s a moment before the big letting go that the trees are truly displayed for who they really are.

For so long, I’ve looked at the colors as a sign of death on the horizon, foreshadowing the coming winter as the trees let go of their growth to prepare for a season of rooting. While this is certainly true, how I have missed perhaps the most crucial part of the story of these mighty oaks.

As the green from summer’s chlorophyll fades, it is the true, dominant color of the leaf that unveils itself in the fall. Deep, rich, burning colors that hold the courage to once again fall into order, trusting the nudge of the autumnal winds and let go for goodness’ sake.

We are not looking upon death, but upon true life. We are seeing the splendor of identity unveiled in the beauty of letting go. We are witnessing the eternal dance of becoming.

Becoming rooted in identity.
Becoming sons and daughters.
Becoming entangled in the dance.
Becoming one with Father, Spirit, Son.
Becoming a bride.
Becoming a city.
Becoming a garden.
Becoming like a child, full of wonder.
Becoming simple once again.

So we lean into the invitation to let go so that we can grasp His hands and simply dance. Because it’s in this dance that we become who we were always meant to be.

Beloved.

There’s something about the wind roaring through the trees that moves me.

Something about this entanglement keeps me both engaged in the present and rooted in the Beginning. The song of the ages makes its way into our linear world and sets the compass of my heart to the eternal world, the world I am meant to to set my feet upon.

The same wind that just composed a symphony in the branches of the mountainside now blows through my hair and nudges against my back. There’s an invitation to follow its lead, though it may cost me my footing and all of my comfort.

And that’s not to say I don’t get a choice in the matter. I do. I can choose to follow and trust where it leads. Or I can choose to stand firm in my own way. But I’ve experienced the wind enough to know that if I will choose to trust, it catapults me further into freedom every time.

I’m learning to set my sail. To let the wind guide me to part of the river that it’s ready for me to journey through in due time. Not in the sense that I’m being controlled, but in the reality that we are in this together, trusting one another. As I set my sails, I become a dwelling place for the wind. So as it trusts me as a place of inhabitation, I also trust its leadership.

And this circle remains unbroken. My sails are somehow meshed with the wind, the water and the boat, all fueling one another deeper into union, becoming lost in the dance. It no longer matters what has passed or what is coming because right now is where the fragrance of this love is the most intoxicating. We are all bound to each other as a bride to a groom, vowing to really see each other for who we truly are and finding home in each other through every for better or for worse.

Here, I am free. No longer moving to the rhythm of my own expectations or held down by the weight of my promises, but instead letting go of the linear and setting my eyes onto the eternal (not the future, but a realm) where I now move to the rhythm of Papa’s heartbeat.