Greetings to all visitors to Judah’s Journal. May the Year 2008 be full of blessings, a fresh start, and the fruition of past efforts.

It is summer down the bottom of the planet this time of year. Blue skies, sunshine, fine warm weather and long daylight hours. My Northern Hemisphere friends are all wishing they were here, yet in a little while that will change and I will be wishing I am where they are. But not right at the moment…

Where I live we have a sizeable back yard of native bush, some of the trees being very large indeed, with paths and timber board walks taking us down under the canopy to an idyllic escape from the rest of the world. There it is cool and still, except for whatever breeze is around. The petite Waxeyes and friendly Fantails dart in and out among the branches, catching insects on the wing. The Tuis sing out their melodious songs. A small stream emerges from underground and trickles down over rocks into a valley of more trees and ferns beyond.

To this refuge I sneak away when in need of respite from the world. The canopy overhead creates a cathedral, with choir of birdsong and crickets; soft organ notes the breath of the breeze, the rustle of ferns high above. Down here no telephone rings, no clock strikes the hour. There is no doorbell, no computer, no chores to do. No liberal theology questions my faith, offering disbelief in my Creator whose hand is clearly seen where I look about me. The sounds of the city are distant, belonging to the valley below. The sense of peace in this enclave sooths and settles my soul.

During a storm three winters ago, a huge pine tree some distance down the road from us was uprooted and crashed down the hillside, blocking the road to our home. That evening, just on dusk, we walked to the scene of the disaster and stood in awe of that tree. I was moved to write the following about it…

We walked to the tree that was blocking our way,
The winds having died with death in their sway;
Death from Thor’s wrath, with mighty thunderous fall
The tree had come down in the wet wintry squall.

Others stood gazing, bewildered as well,
That seventy years had succumbed and then fell;
From Earth’s endometrium a placenta left swinging,
A mass of roots matted, to cliff face left clinging.

We stood there in mourning, in silence and sorrow,
Surveying the tree that would see no tomorrow;
Broken and battered, branches bent strangely angled,
With torrents of dirt that had tumbled entangled.

The woodmen had cut with their chainsaws so crudely
Huge slabs of the trunk, naked growth rings so rudely
Exposed to the skies, with their sacrifice weeping
Sticky wet sap of life’s remnants still seeping.

We walked away softly having murmured a prayer,
For the scene was quite awesome, one hard to bear;
And the night sky descended, draping all with a shroud
Of darkness and grieving, gentle tears from a cloud.

© Judah (2005)

I remember the occasion I stood before mighty Tane Mahuta, the world’s largest living Kauri tree, said to be almost 1300 years old. There was a general hush all around, an air of reverence, and an American tourist whispered to me “It’s like being in church, isn’t it?” Yes, it was indeed. There was a presence, a sense of Emmanuel - God being with us. And in the words of that great hymn… To God be the glory, great things He has done!