High on a Hill Beyond the Stream(Elaine Faber) A father rejoices in the son that has been given. He sheds tears of joy and thanksgiving for his wife who lives beyond last night’s terrors. At dawn, the cry declaring, “See me, I am here at last.” Praise God, the mother lives.

A tiny oak seedling is planted on the day that he is born, high on the hill, beyond the stream, giving back to the Creator a peace offering, watered with thankful tears of gladness. “We are whole. We are alive and all is well. We are a family.”

Four years pass. On Christmas morning, a small boy stands by this same tree. The father watches his healthy child reach up and place a paper star on the highest branch. He recalls the spring and summers, winters and falls, the planting and harvesting, and rejoices anew for his child. The sun glints against new fallen snow and sparkles on the Christmas star, winking brightly, a silent acknowledgment of the miracle of life.

It is a spring evening. The lad lies beneath the sapling and marvels at the stars that wink and blink across the endless heavens. Paths of light twinkle, ever onward, ever outward, to the myriads of planets and galaxies beyond. He gazes into the majesty of heaven and wonders. The sapling bends and sways in the evening breeze and a tiny leaf falls. He twirls it in his fingers, dragging it against his cheek, feeling its caress.

Time passes and on a summer day, the youngster pulls himself into the oak tree. His father calls and the lad climbs higher, hiding in her branches. A task undone, a broken vow and grim retribution stalks below. The boy crouches motionless beneath the canopy of leaves and ponders the consequences of his thoughtless deed.

“Run away, or face the music.”

“I’m here, father,” he calls.

The father reaches up, “Give me your hand, son. We’ll do your chores together. Mother doesn’t need to know.”

A young man and his bride stand beneath the sheltering branches of the mighty oak. Friends and family gather, their faces wreathed in smiles. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together to join this man and this woman…”

Father squeezes his mother’s hand and an accordion squeaks a windy wedding march. The leaves on the tree quiver, as she shelters the couple beneath her spreading boughs. A kiss, a shower of rice and they are man and wife.

The young man grows older and through his life, knows joy and sorrow. Children are born and loved ones die. The land submits to the plow and harvests fail or prosper according to nature’s whim. Winters follow spring, year after year until he is old and still he works the land with his son and grandsons...

It is a time of farewell. Friends and family gather beneath the spreading branches of the mighty oak, to honor a friend, a father, and a grandfather.

Clouds gather. The rain begins to fall and the people huddle beneath her spreading arms. They feel the majesty of God as thunder crashes and lighting flashes.

… “Welcome home, thou good and faithful servant...” beneath the tree, high on the hill, beyond the stream, where a tiny seedling once was planted on the day he was born.

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