ramblings of a ragamuffin: the red tree.

This post is entirely inspired by this book. I read it for the first time a year ago, and I'm in the middle of round two right now. I'm sort of always reading Cold Tangerines; going over my favorite passages like they're bedtime stories. If you haven't read it, you seriously should consider it.

In lieu of the fall weather settling in, I read through a chapter this week titled "The Red Tree." It's possible that there's a series of posts coming up about the significance of trees - about how their changing is so symbolic of life. About how that has affected my story and increased my affection toward the 'bers.

albion avenue - fall 2011

All I want to do today is share some of "The Red Tree." I have a strong affinity for the 'bers, and with that comes a deep desire to experience the depth and bredth of this season. "The Red Tree" helped me connect back to that this week.

The author opens the narrative discussing how, in the midst of this particular fall, she was busy and stressed. Long to-do lists, events to plan, and talks to write. She is caught off guard one morning heading out to the store.

"I stomped out the door, back into the car, still in my pajamas, and as I opened the garage door again, I stopped in my tracks. In the park across the street, one of the tallest trees, twice as high as a two-story house, was the brightest, most insane, lit-from-within red I have ever seen. And it took my breath away, for two reasons.

First, because it was so beyond beautiful, and second, because I had not noticed one step of its turning. I had been in and out of my driveway a zillion times in the last two weeks and could not have told you if the tree was even still standing or not. As I stood there in the driveway, I realized that I had stopped seeing the most important things to see.

I wasn't seeing the people or the celebrations. I wasn't seeing anything beyond the chaos of my life and my home and my calendar. We were hosting a baby shower, and I saw the shopping list and the favor ideas and the bookcases to be dusted, but underneath all those things, waiting for me like the red tree, was the real sight to behold. Waiting under the things to do was a story to be told."

She continues a little later in the chapter:

"It looked like a full calendar, a whirl of events and to-do lists and grocery lists. But underneath it all, the month was a greatest hits album, a collection of stories, one after another, of the rich and gorgeous was that God tells His stories through our lives. What looked like a shower or a dinner or one more night to clean up after [or one more project or one more coffee date or one more early-morning wake up] was actually one of God's best gifts, worth celebrating, worth seeing. What looks like a plain old city street is just that until you lift up your eyes and see the red tree, and then you realize that this is no plain city street. This is a masterpiece just here for the week, our very own wonder of the world, and I just about missed it."

I don't know where your heart is, but this passage struck me this week. I don't want to be so caught up in the myriad of things to do or the busyness of life as a college student that I miss the gifts God's given me right now in this week and this day. I don't want to wake up one day and realized I've missed this season because I was too zone-focused on checking things off my to-do list. I don't want to miss the story that God's telling through the people and experiences around me. I want to see and experience and explore the masterpiece of the present. Be it people or places or little moments of everyday life - I don't want to miss any of this season.