The place where my family vacationed when I was a child is the place where I now live. I remember being amazed by the mountains and tall fir and pine tress with their wonderful scent, but I had seen those before. This is the first place where I remember seeing a weeping willow tree. They don’t grow on the prairies in Canada.
One hot July day, many years ago, while Mom fried potatoes and bacon on the little green Coleman camp stove, and Dad set up the tent, I cooled my feet in the brook that runs through the campground in the center of town. I watched the breeze play with the long trailing branches of the willow trees. They dripped down to the earth like luxuriant overflowing green fountains. On a hot day their shade was satisfying to my soul. I remember declaring out loud, “Someday I am going to live here.”
And now I do.
And I still love weeping willow trees. They remind me of the goodness of God.
For I will pour water on him who is thirsty,
And floods on the dry ground;
I will pour My Spirit on your descendants,
And My blessing on your offspring;
They will spring up among the grass
Like willows by the watercourses.