My Miracle Tree, and lesson in truth

1995 was a year of significant strife for me.

I went through a tough divorce three years prior, making me a young, single mom. I started a new career, purchased my first home after moving out of my parents' basement, and experienced heartache over the ending of a significant relationship. I kept my married name because I wanted it to be the same as my young son’s as he grew, which made his and my initials both JC.

Ironically, that season of my life was reflective of the late fall, a time of year when birds fly south and flowers wilt before winter. I still lived in my hometown area of New England. Many things around me were dying, falling away, just like the leaves falling from the trees. And despite the new, exciting things happening, I was in a dark place. I felt alone, abandoned, uncertain, and confused about all that had occurred over the past few years.

It was also when a sort of miracle happened.

God was always “somewhere” in my life. I grew up Catholic but purposefully sought other “spiritual” connections after high school. I experimented with the New Age movement, which was popular at the time, as well as occasional church hopping.

I took my son to different churches a few times. I bought him a children's Bible, which we read occasionally, but not consistently. I cried out to God often, bouncing between isolating myself and seeking places to find relief.

I spent a lot of time outside, hiking, biking, deep in my thoughts, trying to find solid ground. Music was one place I found solace, as was writing.

I was struggling with a lot. Depression and anxiety ran in my family. I had experienced panic attacks in my early twenties. As a single mom with a new job and a new home, I felt pressure from all sides. My divorce had not been easy, and I felt like a failure. I hated that my son now came from a "broken family." I missed him terribly on the weekends he was with his father.

I had many close friends and came from a good family, but didn't have a reliable, healthy support system to help with the darkness I was battling. A number of friends lived far away, and many, like myself, turned to alcohol to pick them up when they were down. My family members were busy with their own lives, and a decade older than I, there was some disconnect in our differing stages of life. Additionally, none of them had ever been divorced, so it was hard for us to relate. It felt like a burden to ask for help and open up. I had a feeling of shame when asking for anything. Feelings of unworthiness, inadequacy, and incompetence ran rampant.

One Sunday morning, when my son was with his dad, I felt particularly alone, lost, desperate, hopeless.

I remember dropping to my knees next to my bed, folding my hands, and crying to God to please let me know that He heard me, that He saw me, and that I was not alone.

I remember explaining to someone that I felt like a caged animal looking for escape, being constantly stabbed by hot pokers I couldn’t get away from.

I had the whole day to myself and was trying to avoid things I knew weren’t good for me. I could've met friends for drinks and lunch, but I knew where that would leave me - more desolate later in the day.

So, I decided to visit one of my favorite spots, an Audubon sanctuary with a beautiful walking trail that I would frequent often, both alone and with my son. It had clear, safe paths, with a few smaller trails off them and a large boardwalk with a place to sit and take in the beauty. A big pond surrounded it, with each little off-trail path eventually leading to the water's edge. You literally could not get lost there, which I loved.

I parked in the lot and grabbed my camera, which I often took with me while walking. I loved snapping pictures of the beautiful nature and any cool wildlife I might stumble on.

I meandered down a familiar path. This was my favorite place to come alone, to walk in silence, seek guidance and peace. I always found a connection in nature.

I walked along, crossing the boardwalk over the water to a very wooded section. I passed an opening leading to one of the smaller trails. As I passed, I felt a prompting, but I could literally see the water through the trees. I kept walking, knowing it led nowhere.

But the prompting nagged. It felt as if someone was telling me to go down THAT path.

Curious, I turned around and started down the heavily treed little path to nowhere. It was overgrown, branches and leaves jetting out, and I had to duck around them as I stepped. Tons of little gnats hovered around my head as I swatted them and tree limbs away.

I walked further in, and as a small clearing opened up, I saw a downed tree about 50 feet in front of me across the path. As I approached it, my heart stopped. I literally gasped out loud.

There, on the downed tree in the path in front of me, were my initials.

JC

Plain as day. Clear as a bell.

I stood there in quiet disbelief, staring. 

As the vision sank in, I softly heard the words “Jesus Christ” blow through my mind like a gentle breeze. Though the initials were mine and my son's, the words "Jesus Christ" were like a soft breath.

That name had been a mystery to me my whole life. It always made me a bit uncomfortable. I never had a problem with the name "God." Saying God’s name, talking to Him, and acknowledging Him in any manner had never made me uncomfortable. The name of Jesus, however, was something I typically felt awkward saying or hearing for some reason.

But not that day. That day was not awkward or uncomfortable. It was intimate and full of grace, acceptance, and love.

I immediately started crying. I sat on the downed tree and sobbed for, I don’t know how long. I knew, without a doubt, that God had heard me and that He had sent me down that path to see my initials, my son's initials, and Jesus Christ's initials. Jesus met me where I was that day. He saw me. He was there, waiting for me. He made me realize that He was, and is, with me, always.

The following weekend, I took my son to share my experience with him in the best way I could, in a way that he could understand. I did my best to explain what had led me down that tiny path. And I showed him the special tree with all of our initials.

I talked about that day and revisited that moment countless times.

I visited "our miracle tree" quite often over the next few years until I moved out of state. I always found peace and comfort there—the assurance I encountered that day I will carry with me forever.

Although I still stumble, that moment always reminds me of God’s presence in my life. The knowing and assurance come back to me every time I remember my experience. The darkness in my mind, the crying out on my knees, asking God for a sign, was silenced and answered that day.

I hope sharing my story will help others. It is hard sometimes to understand that God truly sees us, but He does. He hears us. He loves us. He is always there waiting for us.  He meets us right where we are. Sometimes it just takes one small change in direction to find Him.

Take time to reach out to God. Listen to the small voices. Make room for enough silence to hear Him speak. Trust in Him. He is there, and He is FOR you.

STONY BROOK, NORFOLK MA