Home is where the heart is

I sat beneath an oak tree once. It was a beautiful, strong tree with roots so large that they ruptured the surface and provided the perfect little nook where I could sit with my book.

I didn’t read that day, though. Instead I spent that time marveling at that tree and letting my mind wander where it pleased.

I thought about what things it had seen and how many people had sat beneath its canopy. I wondered how long it had been growing and how many birds and squirrels had called it home.

I imagined the moment its little seed landed in just the right spot and how many things must have perfectly aligned to have it nestled under a sprinkling of soil, and watered by a gentle rain, and protected from animals that would uproot it when it was still a sprout. What a beautiful journey – and not an easy one.

What I didn’t do was ask where that seed came from and challenge whether it belonged. It never crossed my mind to worry over the ways it might be different from neighboring trees. It was obvious that this beauty was right where it was meant to be and who am I to challenge that?

If that’s true for an oak tree, then who the fuck are you to question whether a human belongs wherever they chose to take root?

How shallow must you be to totally discard all of the perfectly synchronized events that led to a human settling where they do?

How much must you close off your heart to believe that you know better than nature, that you know better than God, that you know better than another human where they belong? That your opinion is more important than the children and adults and associates and animals that have built a community around them?

And to be so sure of yourself that you’re willing to undo the seed landing, and the earth welcoming, and the rain feeding, and the sun nurturing, and God protecting that person so that they can thrive here?

Who the fuck are you to tell another human where they belong?

©️2025 Cristen Writes