God and Nature 2025 #4
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By Kaitlyn Ramos
In my yard there was an old oak tree that had the perfect branches for climbing. When I was a girl, many a sunny Saturday afternoon was spent in the time-worn branches—back resting on the strong trunk, with a book in one hand and a crisp green apple in the other. The tree held me as I grew until the branches could no longer bear the weight of my growing body, and I had to shift to sitting under the tree with my book. It was always the Book and my Refuge that bore me through the years.
A tree is a complex organism—just like myself. It begins as a sapling— shallow, tender roots and fragile stems, just barely able to sustain its own life. As a girl, I was fragile, struggling to comprehend the harshness of the world, the expectations of life. I had my own roots, shallow but developing slowly, systematically. I grew like a sapling in the shade of the mighty oak, nurtured by family, tradition, and values. Sometimes gently nurtured, sometimes with discipline, but always with love. My fragility was real. Emotions developing and fluctuating—never quite stable, like a sapling in the wind. A child trained in the way she should go… in the love and care of the Vine that sustains every budding branch, the naive as well as the wise.
In my yard there was an old oak tree that had the perfect branches for climbing. When I was a girl, many a sunny Saturday afternoon was spent in the time-worn branches—back resting on the strong trunk, with a book in one hand and a crisp green apple in the other. The tree held me as I grew until the branches could no longer bear the weight of my growing body, and I had to shift to sitting under the tree with my book. It was always the Book and my Refuge that bore me through the years.
A tree is a complex organism—just like myself. It begins as a sapling— shallow, tender roots and fragile stems, just barely able to sustain its own life. As a girl, I was fragile, struggling to comprehend the harshness of the world, the expectations of life. I had my own roots, shallow but developing slowly, systematically. I grew like a sapling in the shade of the mighty oak, nurtured by family, tradition, and values. Sometimes gently nurtured, sometimes with discipline, but always with love. My fragility was real. Emotions developing and fluctuating—never quite stable, like a sapling in the wind. A child trained in the way she should go… in the love and care of the Vine that sustains every budding branch, the naive as well as the wise.
...I burst forth in love and kindness when the Gardener tends to my branches. |
As the tree grows, its roots deepen, stretching into the sustaining soil beneath, anchoring the tree in the earth that replenishes it. Roots to draw in the water to refresh and the nutrients to fortify, and to hold the tree upright to weather storms. The roots my family provided, like values and tradition, fortified me too. But the roots the Gardener nurtured gave me the living water to refresh, my own strength in the storms. Roots must be deep, strong, unwavering. For without roots, we wash away, we fall. Without roots, we die. A sapling cannot stay so forever… if it does not flourish, it withers. Nor will a soul thrive without roots of faith and love.
When the life-giving roots take hold, the sapling's fragile stem becomes a mighty trunk. It expands and hardens, allowing the tree to stand tall, to announce its worth. A tree without a trunk, a backbone, is not a tree at all. With strong roots, I also developed the strength to announce my worth—the worth the Gardener toiled to provide. I am the Gardener’s delight, and He is mine. Like the trunk of a tree, I can proclaim my worth as a creation of the Gardener of love and light.
But soon all trees sprout diverging branches. The branches will expand in all directions, some towards air and sky, others toward obstacles hindering their expansion. Branches reaching for sapphire skies thrive in the light of the Son. But those that twist need the care of the Gardener for a thriving life. If the obstacles keep them from the Gardener, their path becomes dark and dangerous, but, with care, the Gardener makes them strong and leads them to the light of the Son in their own unique way. My path has wound through the dark and dangerous places, where the Son pursued me—resolutely, relentlessly—drawing me back into the light through the Gardener’s care. The twists and turns in my branches have served to strengthen my trunk, deepen my roots. Even though I’ve strayed, love has pruned and guided me.
When the branches abide in the tree, they form exquisite, vibrant blossoms. Firmly tied into the organism, roots, trunk, and branches work in tandem with the water, soil, and air. Leaves dipped in fern light burst forth carrying the joy of springtime, growth, renewal—rebirth. I abide in Him to fiercely flourish. The Book in my hands and the Word in my heart nourish my roots, fortify my trunk, stretch my branches, and sprout leaves of emerald glass allowing me to live abundantly. And just as the crowned branch-bearer bursts forth in waxy blooms each spring, so I burst forth in love and kindness when the Gardener tends to my branches. When the Son intercedes for me, my leaves rustle in the breeze and joy overtakes my body. The living water circulates through me and refreshes my soul.
Delicate blossoms permeate the air with their sweet breath, and strong branches provide a resting place for the birds, butterflies, and bees. Eventually, the flourishing tree begins to bear fruit—apples or oranges or walnuts, providing life and joy to those near and far. But the branch that falls from the tree can bear no fruit… nor can I when separated from the Vine. By abiding in the Vine, I, too, produce the fruits of goodness, faithfulness, and gentleness; I am a representative of the Gardener providing shelter and rest to those in need. Through the care of the Gardener and the light of the Son, I bear His qualities before a world in desperate need. My faith bears bountiful fruit.
And like a tree in winter, sometimes I must rest. The animals depart, the fruit is done, and the leaves fall. I too have times where my fruit isn’t as sweet, my flourish falls flat, and my branches break. In those times, I rest beneath the oak tree and implore the Gardener to refresh me. To renew with stores of living water; to replenish my soil; to give me air. I ask for the light of the Son to shine upon me, giving me peace. For He is my strength and my refuge, and He will restore my soul, so I will bear fruit again.
Kaitlyn Ramos works as an instructional coach for a virtual school, follows her husband wherever the army sends them, homeschools her daughter, and writes between lesson plans, laundry, and long walks with her dog. She is the author of A Dream Fulfilled Life: A Memoir in Essays, available on Amazon, and her work has appeared in The Way Back to Ourselves, Vessels of Light, and Grit & Grace Life.
When the life-giving roots take hold, the sapling's fragile stem becomes a mighty trunk. It expands and hardens, allowing the tree to stand tall, to announce its worth. A tree without a trunk, a backbone, is not a tree at all. With strong roots, I also developed the strength to announce my worth—the worth the Gardener toiled to provide. I am the Gardener’s delight, and He is mine. Like the trunk of a tree, I can proclaim my worth as a creation of the Gardener of love and light.
But soon all trees sprout diverging branches. The branches will expand in all directions, some towards air and sky, others toward obstacles hindering their expansion. Branches reaching for sapphire skies thrive in the light of the Son. But those that twist need the care of the Gardener for a thriving life. If the obstacles keep them from the Gardener, their path becomes dark and dangerous, but, with care, the Gardener makes them strong and leads them to the light of the Son in their own unique way. My path has wound through the dark and dangerous places, where the Son pursued me—resolutely, relentlessly—drawing me back into the light through the Gardener’s care. The twists and turns in my branches have served to strengthen my trunk, deepen my roots. Even though I’ve strayed, love has pruned and guided me.
When the branches abide in the tree, they form exquisite, vibrant blossoms. Firmly tied into the organism, roots, trunk, and branches work in tandem with the water, soil, and air. Leaves dipped in fern light burst forth carrying the joy of springtime, growth, renewal—rebirth. I abide in Him to fiercely flourish. The Book in my hands and the Word in my heart nourish my roots, fortify my trunk, stretch my branches, and sprout leaves of emerald glass allowing me to live abundantly. And just as the crowned branch-bearer bursts forth in waxy blooms each spring, so I burst forth in love and kindness when the Gardener tends to my branches. When the Son intercedes for me, my leaves rustle in the breeze and joy overtakes my body. The living water circulates through me and refreshes my soul.
Delicate blossoms permeate the air with their sweet breath, and strong branches provide a resting place for the birds, butterflies, and bees. Eventually, the flourishing tree begins to bear fruit—apples or oranges or walnuts, providing life and joy to those near and far. But the branch that falls from the tree can bear no fruit… nor can I when separated from the Vine. By abiding in the Vine, I, too, produce the fruits of goodness, faithfulness, and gentleness; I am a representative of the Gardener providing shelter and rest to those in need. Through the care of the Gardener and the light of the Son, I bear His qualities before a world in desperate need. My faith bears bountiful fruit.
And like a tree in winter, sometimes I must rest. The animals depart, the fruit is done, and the leaves fall. I too have times where my fruit isn’t as sweet, my flourish falls flat, and my branches break. In those times, I rest beneath the oak tree and implore the Gardener to refresh me. To renew with stores of living water; to replenish my soil; to give me air. I ask for the light of the Son to shine upon me, giving me peace. For He is my strength and my refuge, and He will restore my soul, so I will bear fruit again.
Kaitlyn Ramos works as an instructional coach for a virtual school, follows her husband wherever the army sends them, homeschools her daughter, and writes between lesson plans, laundry, and long walks with her dog. She is the author of A Dream Fulfilled Life: A Memoir in Essays, available on Amazon, and her work has appeared in The Way Back to Ourselves, Vessels of Light, and Grit & Grace Life.