Monday, October 10, 2011

under the jackfruit tree

It was in Uganda the last time I felt God speak to me so clearly,
that I had to stop dead in my tracks under a jack fruit tree,
and cry.
The clouds hung low, heavy with rain,
and I waited on the stones
to be swallowed up by the magnitude of it all.

That was over a year ago.
And yet tonight, as I opened the journal,
with the pages covered with my handwriting,
red-dirt-stained and crucible-marked,
I remembered the jackfruit tree.
I remembered the moment I wanted to
slip off my dirty sneakers,
and stay until someone found me.

I don't know if God speaks to you,
or if He does, if you hear it.

But I do hope that the words of life come your way,
that just when you feel forgotten,
the earth would swell up under your feet
to nestle you under a fruit tree.
That the air would feel so holy,
so clear,
ringing with truth,
that you would feel the urge to slip off your dirty shoes,
fall on your knees
and say "thank you".

I hope this for you.
Because that has been a source of manna for me,
a lightpost on the trail as I look back,
a lantern swinging in the night.

A reminder that even when I've felt invisible, 
standing before an uncertain future,
God shouted to me in Africa,
just before the rain fell
by the jackfruit tree.

linking up today:


  1. The jackfruit tree brings back childhood memories spent in Jamaica with my feet in the dirt and my head in the clouds or in a mango tree, but that's another story. My four year old just flung her arms wide and said, "I can't wait 'til Thanksgiving to celebrate Jesus." In that moment she was my jackfruit tree. Does that make sense? I was reminded that when we fling our arms wide open, like a little child, God invites us to climb up on his lap, where he speaks and loves us because he's Abba, Father.

    One thing you should know about me is that I have song reference for everything. As a kid I listened to this hymn, "I Come to the garden alone, While the dew is still on the roses . . ." Your jackfruit tree reminds me of those lazy Sunday afternoons, spend listening to Charlie Pride, and Elvis gospel. Yes, in Jamaica. I love those garden moments.

  2. Simocha — oh this is rich. "in that moment she was my jackfruit tree" - that made me cry. i love it. and i love that lyric. what hymn is that? this comment is so, so beautiful. thank you for sharing this.

  3. I realized recently that one of my greatest fears is to be invisible. I don't really know why. But I find great comfort in the jackfruit trees of my life--those moments when God's voice is so clear, his presence almost tangible. This post brought tears to my eyes-xo

  4. this was an absolutely sweet read. thank you so much for the sharing.

  5. Maureen — it's one of my greatest fears too. Thank God for jackfruit tree moments.

    Hope Unbroken — thank you for stopping in! :)

  6. Oh, sweet girl. This makes my heart swell in gratitude and love. To know that we can never be forgotten, that He sees us in every space, that He speaks in such amazing ways.

    Love the new blog look, btw!

  7. Jen - i don't always feel seen nor do i always hear, but moments like these remind me... i post them for my own reminders too, down the road! :) thanks for stopping by today. :)

  8. @Andrea

    Andrea, for some reason all this time I had a woman's voice in my head, but lo and behold I look it up and it's none other than ELVIS. Who knew? The words are so lovely.

    I come to the garden alone
    While the dew is still on the roses
    And the voice I hear falling on my ear
    The Son of God discloses.

    And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
    And He tells me I am His own;
    And the joy we share as we tarry there,
    None other has ever known.

    He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
    Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
    And the melody that He gave to me
    Within my heart is ringing.

    I’d stay in the garden with Him
    Though the night around me be falling,
    But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
    His voice to me is calling

    Feel free to cut this very looooong comment :)

  9. Andrea, if you want the sheet music let me know I can bring it up sometime!

  10. Adrienne, can you email the sheet music? My son plays and I would love to him learn that.

    Andrea, see what you started!

  11. @Simocha simocha... I have Andrea's grandparents stash of music from years ago, and I know this is in there... I will have to drag it out and get to Andrea to get to you

  12. @Simocha - I love those lyrics! If you want to e-mail me ( then I will have your e-mail address and can send you a copy of the sheet music :)