My tree cathedral

 Photo by Margaret J Smith

In my late thirties and early forties, I lived for several years in Nambour, a pretty little town inland from the Sunshine Coast. My first few months there flew by. I was getting to know new friends, setting up house with a friend and her daughter and I’d just resumed studying speech and drama with the aim of getting my letters to teach it. I loved everything I was doing, but it was hard to concentrate on study with all the new sights and sounds, comings and goings, around me.

I’d had visions of vegetable gardens and leisurely walks in the country but my

 ‘escape to the country’ seemed to have turned into a busy time. I craved a quiet spot where I could study and think and pray alone. (We’re all different!)

“Why don’t you go over to the creek?" Jo asked me. “You could take your books.”

So I set off into the hot sunshine and across the scorching oval to a gap in a hedge leading to the creek.

Slipping through overhanging branches, I found myself in another world. Cool, fresh, moist air fragrant with camphor laurels which provided deep shade. The musical trickle of the creek as it leapt over little rocks. The gentle twitter of birds. Beneath my feet was a mosaic of various coloured leaves.

Photo by Margaret J Smith

I breathed deeply and unpacked my basket of books and a thermos of tea on a patch of tufty grass beside a large fig tree. At first I just sat. The trees stretched long branches to meet overhead, forming a vaulted ceiling, the great leafy dome of a natural cathedral. It seemed God had made His own cathedral.

I felt it was a special place for me and I began to go there often.

It became my hiding place to study, write in my journal, and talk to God. To listen. The peace, the gurgle of the creek relaxed me in the middle of a busy day. The rustle of leaves was music. I loved the tangy camphor laurel scent and the fresh, damp air.  I stayed as long as I could before gathering my books and returning to my home over the road.

Sometimes when I went there, it rained. Showers pattered on the leaves overhead – but the dense foliage kept me dry. Unless it was pouring, I stayed in the damp shelter of the trees.

My ‘cathedral’ began to welcome me. I sensed a Presence there as I stepped out of the sunlight into my shelter. Stillness and peace.

God listens (to the cry of a stressed soul).

God speaks

In the rustle of the leaves,

In the murmur of the stream,         

In the melody of birds.

God whispers.