Trees (I)

There's a tree outside of the window at the gym, just in front of my favorite elliptical machine.  Or, I should say, in front of the elliptical that's my favorite because of the tree.

Either way, when I'm panting and counting and hoping that my allotted time will pass quickly as I get the arms and legs moving in the morning, I also spend some time contemplating the tree.

It's not a large tree; in fact, even for a newly planted neighborhood, it's on the small side.  It's deciduous, and I'm a decidedly evergreen girl.  (Though, now as the proud owner of a home with four large evergreen trees on its lot, I may be a little less confirmed in that.  I haven't had to pick pine cones or rake needles for a long time, and this weekend reminded me of just how prickly and tedious those tasks are.)  But this tree catches my attention.

Perhaps what this one is, more than a stately example of strength and fruitfulness, is my prayer tree.  This little tree is a focus for me: to look outside, rather than down; to see the world as it is, rather than as it's presented on the TV screens that line the walls; to identify with the created, rather than the made.

The tree and I have more in common than do the clocks and machines and even the piped-in music that surrounds me in the gym.  The tree and I, relatively insignificant in our own ways, nevertheless grow and change with the seasons, marking time and place with our own lives.  Progress of a type, perhaps--but toward a goal not of progress but of being, instead.

I think of this little tree as my prayer tree because it stays in the same place, and I return to it regularly--even religiously--and it reminds me that prayer is about focusing my view, not down, not around, not ahead, but toward.  The attention of prayer is attention to relationship.  And while my prayers continue throughout even the days that I bypass the gym (which outnumber the days I'm there, at least at this point), the tree reminds me to keep breathing through the hard parts, that changes come for us all, and even live creatures go through barren times. 

It makes for a good view.