A Line of Sycamore Trees

Once the outlet for the cries of my heart... now I scarcely know what to write. It would be foolish to write everything on my heart and mind in such a public setting as a blog. Much of what we carry stays within a silent box, and that is how it should be. Quiet, wrapped with rubber bands, sealed with tape, and tied up with string.

Work keeps me busy and useful. Every day I love little people and I love doing it. I usually carry my camera back and forth, just in case anything wonderful happens to appear in my travels. (That was a bit of advice from Tom. "Always take your camera," he said. And so I do.

On Monday I stopped at a favorite childhood park and marveled once again at the sycamore trees lining the road. I wonder how old they are and if they were growing there when my mother and her siblings crashed Sunday school picnics as children, or if they kept watch when my dad and his brother drove their little Model A Ford through the park and over the little bridge.

 The gnarled and scaly tree trunks are full of peering faces. This one scowled at me as I took pictures and I thought of the little man in the Bible who couldn't see Jesus over the crowd. 'm curious if the sycamore tree Zacchaeus climbed looked anything like these? Was there just one lone tree? Or was the road lined with them? I've always pictured a single tree until now... and I kind of like the thought of there being a bunch. Shade for not only the multitudes, but Jesus as well. And a place for him to meet Zacchaeus.

My ever nostalgic mind still treasures memories of church picnics in Ellison Park where church and family blended into one and little girls were safe amongst the crowd of friends and strangers. I remember savoring Mom's macaroni salad as I sat at a picnic table surrounded by my family and deciding it was my favorite. And of course, there was the playground with its towering giraffe climber, slides that reached into the clouds, and swings we twisted up until they could go no higher and the dizzying ride as the chains unwound.

Yes. Memories are wonderful and I am thankful for each and every one tucked away. I am incredibly blessed to have them