Yesterday, as I was driving down a rainy street on my way to the San Mateo Bridge, I became engrossed in Donald Byrd's rendition of "Cristo Redentor." The sky was covered by clouds of several shades of grey. The rain had stopped, but people were still walking hunched over, appearing to be determined to get to their destination as quickly as possible while not getting splashed by the stream of cars driving through standing water. No work was being done at the large construction sites by the bridge, so the projects looked like remnants from a civilization that simply ran out of interest, time, or both. As I listened to the music, I thought of the statue of Christ the Redeemer that stands over Rio, a city of perhaps even starker contrasts. I also thought of Christ among us: the Christ who holds us together even when it seems we are totally adrift and can take no more drenching. I believe in those outstretched arms.
I also thought of the beautiful and tall eucalyptus trees that I see every month. Unfortunately, one of these venerable ones did fall in the last storm. The city was busy removing not only it, but some of the others as well. My heart was saddened. Such precautions are probably necessary, but I love those stately trees and I always look forward to standing in their presence. However, because of the work being done, I needed to park a little further away from the community I was scheduled to visit, and on my walk, I noticed an interesting succulent garden at the end of an apartment house driveway. On my way back to my car, I took a moment to walk down the driveway and get a closer look. There I met a man moving some pots of cacti under an awning. He told me they also had experienced quite enough rain. I told him of the small rock garden I was creating in my backyard, and that I was thinking of planting some succulents there. He wanted to make sure that some shade would be available for them. I assured him there was. It seems succulents do appreciate some shade. "They are like people. Too much sun and we tend to shrink. A little shade helps us all open and relax." He tenderly cupped his hands together and said some of his plants had come to him, small and "half-dead." Cristo Redentor.
I attach a picture taken a year or so ago of one of the eucalyptus trees and also of a tree I call "The Grotto." That tree grows along the creek that runs behind the Little Brown Church in Sunol. For me, it contributes to the "spirit of place," much like an apricot orchard in Sunnyvale (now declared a Heritage Park), a row of eucalyptus trees on the peninsula, and the new addition of a succulent garden growing in a parking lot. I am grateful for these places to rest and pray as I make my monthly rounds.
Both the drought and the recent storms have taken a toll on trees and people. Yet, hope surfaces. Saturday, February 11 is Tu B'Shavat, a Jewish holiday that is often celebrated by the planting of trees (It is even called a New Year for trees.) Also, February 11 marks the day that Bernadette first experienced her vision of the Holy Mother in 1858 at Lourdes. I do not think I will plant a tree, but I think I will plant a succulent, ponder how to create a garden grotto, and give thanks for all these intersections where we are reminded that we are held.
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