"Waiting" by Michelle Cook
“For there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay” (Habakkuk 2:3).
In Germany, in the middle of a lush Rheinland forest, there is an ecologist who has learned a lesson of great value from the trees he protects. Peter Wohlleben understands that far below the visible canopy, deep within the soil in slow-motion tree time, these woodland giants have set up an environment innately designed to flourish. They defy our limited notions of gratuitous isolationism, creating intricate communal systems while simultaneously reaching their own magnificent potential. Imagine! An intricate web of connectivity that fosters a larger “superorganism” of individuality. So resourceful and sophisticated are they that the trees can detect the difference between invasive predator and human hand, adjusting their behaviors accordingly. These complex systems are built over time as a sophisticated exchange of nourishment, nurture, and respect.
Trees know how to make the most of waiting.
What a challenging practice in an unjust world this act of waiting seems to be. I think, despite the suggestion of passivity, it is not intended to be an inert activity, but rather a grand invitation to contemplation and observation. Coming into the deep knowing of self is a labor of love and a practice of supreme preparation. Isn’t it astonishing how the Divinity uses a prophet, whose very name translates as “embrace,” to remind us of the promise of hope and restoration? It is a truth the trees already know.
It is a revelation to walk
through the conifer garden
as new snowfall shrouds in wet, heavy blankets
With only the discerned sounds of crystalline cold
and the dulled winging of a goldfinch
not yet robed in winter cloak
Her pirated tuft of thistledown
as gathered insurance against the turn of season
In the cloistered hamlet
flakes begin to catch and crown
The blue spruce and noble fir
Its pendulum cones
ringing silent as tongueless cathedral bells
in the sudden and violent gusts
The venerable hemlock
with weeping cap and outstretched palm
welcomes the assemblage of white
While a trinity of whorls on a common juniper
herald the advancing cruelty
of winter’s scarce
indifferent landscape
I think it possible
these sagacious evergreens
appear as witness to the yew
who knows well
how to bide time
In careful deliberation and consideration
of its own unfolding
As it bends low to the ground
the reverberation of crimson ariled branches
sweep the earth
Offering a rooted healing so captivating
that even the cardinal
hesitant to stray from the security of his high perch
is drawn to shelter
Hidden within the sanctum
where frozen earth and air meet
Waiting