i am the cracking sound of trees

dated March 18th:

I was walking through the National Park in Nicaragua called Mombacho. Though located only an hour outside of Managua, the temperature drops to around 50 or 60 degrees as you climb to the top of the mountain. As we walked along the moist paths, my lungs were filling with the fresh, cold breaths of pure air. The leaves strewn along the paths held water in the cup of their little hands like cups. I let me hands brush the lichen that grew on the stone. In order for lichen to grow, the environment must be incredibly pure. Lichen look like algae and feel like some furry animal you might encounter on another planet. They obtain all of their nutrients and hydration from the water in the surrounding atmosphere. They can be indicators of atmospheric pollution.

We passed under a tree with 35 different species of plants growing on its wooly branches and limbs that hung down like human hair. Everything felt alive, the plants, the rain, the clouds, the mountains, the earth. All of my senses were tingling from the purity of the place, a haven completely saturated by water. It was a dwelling for growth and lush vegetation.

I could hear the sound of a tree cracking, groaning in the wind like a heart once broken. It hit me like a sensation, like a feeling, like a pain in my chest. It sounded like a soul. I turned quickly to see the thing break, but I only heard the noise. The image wasn’t there for me to look upon. I began to imagine the tree as it fell. I saw it fall in my mind’s eye, and I saw the wood splinter. Something about the thought of it breaking felt heroic. Like it gave itself back to the earth.

One of my prayers over the course of the past few days has been that God would give me a revelation of what it means to walk aright with Him, to be in righteousness. I do not believe it is dependent solely on behavior. If that is the case, I give up. Yet, I am beginning to believe there’s far more to walking righteously than my actions. I feel it deep in my spirit. As I walked those paths, bathed in rain, I started to think about that image as it relates to me. The forest was covered in clouds, almost like a blanket. It received all of its water source and nutrients from the moisture that leaked out of the clouds above. The forest remained uncontaminated from the pollution of the surrounding atmosphere. Although located in close proximity to cities like Managua and Granada, the air in Mombacho was so free of contamination that lichen can thrive on almost every surface of rock located in the park. One tree can house up to 35 different species of plants due to the character of the environment.

I picture myself, head in the clouds, arms spread wide like that tree, hands open, waiting to be washed by that kind of dew. I am that forest. I am covered in fog. Some days, I can barely see in front of me. Some days, I cry out just to feel a presence bigger than my own, just to hear the sound of a soul that is breaking through, just to know that there is a light flickering inside me. And though at times, I feel myself existing in the world, on the other side of the door, stumbling among the shadows, I believe. In fact, I believe so much that I feel it is no longer a part of me. It is who I am. I am the girl begging to be bathed on the corner, my face covered in grease and my hair in knots. I am the child walking with dirty feet that need to be washed day after day after day. I feel myself depending more and more on water that doesn’t run dry, and at times, I am fearful because I feel so dependent. But then, I remember the tree. I remember the sound of my soul in that tree. I am groaning to return to my origin, splintering in every which direction on my way down, falling into the unknowable universe of faith with a noise so loud that it echoes into eternity.

We must not seek righteousness alone. We must not aspire only to be good. We must look for something far beyond the concrete world. We are looking for water that lives, a rain that has the power to wash the soul. To those that are not satisfied with this world, I am holding your hand. I am crying out so that my sounds might reach the heavens. Tell me who Jesus is. Show me how the Holy Spirit can move in winds and in breaths. Show me the sunset melting into the sea so I may know that good things exist in this world. I am looking to find God in all His glory, nothing less. I am begging to find Him, to behold His beauty. Oh God, saturate me in the clouds of Your goodness. I give myself back to You, my Maker. I lay at your feet, as a tree that bows to the ground in glorious groans.