Blog Post – The Hill and the Tree

Blog Post – The Hill and the Tree

It was after I passed the first bench that the walk shifted from movement to meaning.

The crescent moon hung low in the sky—just a sliver of light, like a slice of pie above me. Ducks flew overhead, wings flapping in rhythm, searching for the waters where they could rest. And ahead, like a promise, stood the hill. The tree on top marked the finish line—not just of my route, but of a deeper journey I’ve been walking for years.

That tree has become a symbol: of freedom, of presence, of showing up again and again.

As I climbed the hill, I thought of the love that leads me. The love my mother taught me, the kind that forgives even when the world doesn’t understand. When you’ve been abused, wronged, or misunderstood, it’s tempting to retaliate. But she taught me another way: forgiveness as freedom.

“It’s in your defenselessness that your safety lies,” I whispered, feeling it in my bones.

I stepped back. I let Him lead the way.

God is but love, and therefore so am I.

The birds played in the air, dancing in the breeze. I could hear their laughter, their freedom. They weren’t afraid of being seen. They were simply being. That, too, is a lesson.

And then I touched the tree.

I leaned into the bark—rough, real, rooted. I looked up at the branches, stretching into the sky, and sat down in the grass beneath it.

This tree. This hill. This morning.

It reminded me of home, of holiness, of peace. That the truth isn’t out there—it’s rooted inside us, waiting to be remembered.

And in that stillness, I remembered what it’s like to be a refugee.

Not without a place—but carried home by grace.

And so I walked again.

Lightened.

Loved.

Free.