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Song: The Solid Rock
Scripture: Psalm 1
A sycamore tree grew by the bank of the creek that ran through the property of my boyhood home. It was a tall stately tree with roots that sank deep into the rocky creek bed and protected that portion of the bank upon which it grew from the gentle flow of the stream that carried away other portions of the bank inch by inch, year by year.
The sycamore branches were just the right distance apart to make climbing easy. There was a low sturdy branch stretching over a deep pool—the perfect perch for fishing or platform for diving. The broad leaves were just thick enough to hide a boy from passersby but sparse enough that when you climbed the twenty-five feet to “the crow’s nest” you could keep watch over the entire neighborhood as far as the end of Johnson’s field.
The sycamore provided many a day of harmless diversion, many an hour of blithe and carefree amusement, many a refuge for quiet reflection among breeze-kissed branches hanging over a gargling stream. I miss my boyhood playhouse and juvenile getaway. But the sycamore’s solace has been supplanted by a more tranquil retreat—the security of faith. For the righteous I’m told “will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water.” Excuse me, while I go climb for awhile.
Jason Moore
