Acorns to Oak Trees

Last week, I had some friends in town. I invited them to dinner in our backyard, to socially distance and to enjoy the beauty of dining al fresco. Sadly, the days are shorter. Our gathering took place just before the autumn equinox. The long days of summer are behind us; daylight wraps up just after 7pm here in Northern California. In June, we enjoyed a game of cornhole on our patio until 9pm. I protest.

But there we were, on our patio, wrapping up a delicious meal with best friends. It was dark. The night was quiet. While the patio was well lit, the perimeters of our yard were dark and shadowy. Often, deer walk through it; this morning six turkeys popped through. We heard a noise. The crack of ground being moved upon. It’s always exciting to see what’s passing by. I got my flashlight out and lit up the side from where the noise came. Nothing. We heard more noise. Cracks, and thuds. Not animals, but acorns. We were witnessing the week that the acorns drop from the trees. Branches spontaneously letting go of the seeds it carefully grew over the last six months.

The ruckus drew me in. My home is surrounded by oak trees, but I’ve never noticed the period when the tree drops them. Of course, I’ve cleaned the “mess” of dropped, then driven over-smashed acorns on my driveway over the last four years, but I’ve never noticed the period of time when they actually drop, or how it sounds when the all the branches of all the trees release its grip. It’s a cacophony of thuds, cracks, and pings. In the night’s warm air, it felt magical. A gift from the oaks. This exact time, of our earth’s journey around the sun, it was time for the acorns to fall. Thud. Crack. Ping.

In my not-landscaped, not-irrigated backyard, I have a baby oak growing. We didn’t plant it nor plan it. I can only imagine that the acorn had been scooped up by an ambitious squirrel and serendipitously buried in the midst of an old oleander bush. Forgotten and left to journey on to an oak, small now, but soon to be a steadfast beacon of life, growth, and abundance. Shade. And nourishment for the next generation of squirrels.

As much as I plan my life, arrange for it, and worry about it, I am reminded of the goodness of God and her nurturing ways. I look to the oak trees’ life cycle—acorns growing and dropping, finding their way to the depths by outside forces, buried and broken open in darkness. Pushing through the soil, in my oleander bush. Growing strong, one day bearing many acorns. The pattern; life, growth, death. Repeat.

Matthew 6:30-33 If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers, most of which are never even seen, don’t you think she’ll attend to you, take pride in you, and do her best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way she works fuss over these things, but you both know God and how he works. Steep your life in God reality, God initiative, God provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.- Jesus

I am stunned by Jesus’ care and concern for humanity. For humanities’ growth and flourishment. The scriptures are full of love for people. For creation. This earth. Rest today. Relax today. And know that you are loved. You are cared for. In the midst of a pandemic, fires, distance learning, elections, and social isolation. You are loved. You are seen. You will grow. Acorns to Oaks. Everyday.