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“Hey, while you were napping it happened—just like we told you,” said the bronzed counselor, standing in the screened doorway of the log cabin, his toothy smile, still taut with braces. We turned over on our damp mats, then rubbed sleep from our eyes, then stood up. He waited as we put away the smelly mats, then followed everyone outside. This was Camp Sebago, 1941, long since, a suburb of St. Louis, Missouri.
In front of us grew The Magic Tree that seemed to increase its height and girth, from one day to the next, especially noticeable on Mondays, our return to camp. Some wanted to spend the night at its base and watch it happen. If you stood beneath it, it was impossible to glimpse the sky; it just went up and up. No other tree was like it in the world.
For weeks, we’d been reminded that if we continued being good, the Magic Tree would give us a surprise.
Dusty T-shirts and shorts and sandals formed concentric circles around our talisman as excitement mounted like flashing fountains reaching for the skies.
Then, the Magic Tree’s treat slowly unfolded as counselors put together the story: they, alone, were privy as to how it all happened. While we were sleeping, the Magic Tree gave birth to the watermelon secured to that upper limb lest it fall. So, that was it! We marveled. Everyone gasped as other counselors lowered it with ropes, then began cutting into the sweet meat. In no time, my chubby hands, juiced with my slice, engulfed it whole and wanted more.
In later years theologians superimposed the Tree of Life upon the Magic Tree; the Messianic Banquet, upon the watermelon. From whatever angle I view this experience, it was all gift from Precious God. In many ways, I’m still that hungry child who wants more…
My great-niece leaps above the in-coming tide of the Atlantic Ocean, Ogunquit, Maine, June 2022
Such joy touches mine!
In my perception, the word play is like a lighthouse flashing critical illumination along hazardous rocky shorelines. Without play, darkness envelops the psyche, and encrusts inner faculties with viper-like stings, frequently self-imposed. With play’s bag of surprises, however, creativity surges; glee mounts as more of the beautiful reveals herself, in nature, art works, design, even a forgiven child with a skinned knee.
A deeper look at play seems to suggest something of the Sacred, at work. The Old New Testament uses the verb, play, seventy-three times: with musical instruments, with harlotry, with performing, and with children. Each expression of play draws upon the individual’s imagination and uplifts listeners or warns them to wake up and observe the Law of Moses.
A fifth use of this verb differs from the others. From the book of Proverbs (8:29-31) comes,
…when he laid the foundations of the earth
I was by his side, a master craftsman,
delighting him day after day,
ever at play in his presence,
at play everywhere in his world
delighting to be with the sons of man.
Within the essence of God, there seems to be a player who enjoys being with us, who takes delight with our efforts to play/ or co-create with him.
I would have loved to have known the sage who received this insight and gave it expression, centuries ago.
Heart Whisperings 