There lives a mighty oak
Next to our crooked drive;
Its trunk is tall, its limbs are thick,
Its base is firm and wide.

Though once its mighty pow’r
Was bound into a seed,
I now behold a tow’ring strength,
A deeper life decreed.

Strong roots spread out beneath
And break the hard, hard ground
While lofty branches high above
Speak truth without a sound.

It’s been here many years.
I know not when ‘twas planted.
At least a few gen’rations now
Have taken it for granted.

It’s lived through drought and flood;
through crash and slump it grew.
‘Survived the ‘cane of ‘89
And ice storm of ‘02.

I pass this oak each morn
While on my way to work.
I take my walk and think and plan
Beneath the sparrow’s perch.

The tree just stands there, robed
In pure simplicity
And hands down an indictment of
My own futility.

In sheer defiance poised,
Content there just to be,
The oak strives not after the wind
With fruitless energy.

It speaks to me each morn,
A sermon without words.
It has no drive to be a god;
Indeed, the thought’s absurd.

I envy Mighty Oak
For his deep mystery.
I want to be fulfilled in life,
Content always as he.

 

“A clam glorifies God better than we do, because the clam is being everything it was created to be, whereas we are not.” -Elisabeth Elliot.

 

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