Acorn

I found this acorn near the trash. I don't know how it got here, as the closest oak tree is pretty far from the trash pile.

For many years, I have held onto the dream of building a house in the country, a place for the gathering of family, friends, good food and fine music. We've had many hopeful signs, and many devastating heartbreaks, but we held fast to our dream. Years of prayer often felt worthless. After all, many people have no home at all. How could I be so myopic as to believe that God would grant me a big house on a hill in the country somewhere? Yet it was a desire of my heart, and I continued to pray for God's will in my life. If there were a place for us, I would be willing to go, whether that was in the city or in the country. And then, a piece of inspiration came that I could not ignore...
During a concert in Wheaton, IL in July of 2001, one of my favorite musicians, David Wilcox, David shared this bit of inspiration:

"Imagine an acorn planted in a paper cup. It's a seedling. You say to yourself, "It's an oak tree. It's the strongest of trees. It's an oak tree." And somebody looks at it and says, "Oh, come on! That's no oak tree! Look at that! That's an acorn with a sprout!" And you say, "Yeah, well. I'm...I'm taking care of it. It's gonna grow." "Oh, yeah. Where you gonna plant it? It's nothing but parking lot and broken glass! Have you looked outside? Have you seen this world?" And you say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah." You don't show it to everybody. Sometimes you keep the dream tucked inside your coat when it's cold. But's it there. And it's growing close to your heart. You find yourself a little garden. You call it a garden. It's a square foot of ground. It's a place to call home. The dream's gotta be planted. It's gotta have a place to dig in. And you clear a little more as you have time. A lot of time goes by and sure enough, the dream can grow. Grow right where you are. Right in your little town, in your little street, in your little home. And it grows. In those scorching hot summer days that used to feel like there was nothin' but pavement and broken glass, you got shade. What is that shade from? What is that great, green shade from? Oh, that's an acorn, in a paper cup. Well, and...time. Yeah. Take care of that dream. "

You have to understand...I'm a gardener. I love anything that grows. Even as we speak, I'm trying to nurture a couple of hormworms that I found devouring my tomato plants. Most people kill them, but I learned that they turn into very cool and very interesting hummingbird moths, creatures that amaze me as they flutter from one brightly colored herb to another, helping to pollinate my garden.

You also have to understand that I'm a treehugger. I don't love all trees more than I love all people, but there are SOME trees that I love more than SOME people.

Finally, you have to understand that I have some family members who are *not* gardeners, or tree-lovers, or dreamers. As a matter of fact, a particular family member can be downright discouraging. If I didn't have people like my husband, and David, and other musicians, I would be pretty discouraged a lot of the time.

Usually, when some exciting dream comes into my life, it just bubbles out of me. I share it with those I love. Including my discouraging family member. And most often, this person fills my ears and my heart with discouragement.

But as David spoke that night in Wheaton, I closed my eyes and I saw...I mean it, I *saw* our house on the hill. I saw it as clearly as if it were right there, right there in front of me! I could *see* a room full of people, loving and enjoying music, in my home, up on my hill, in a beautiful country community. Music is a big part of my life (my husband and children are musicians...I'm just the groupie) and a coffeehouse is something I had dreamed of for a very long time, but never, NEVER before had I been given a true vision of it. Actually, I'm not sure I've ever had a clear vision about anything. I was smitten. And inspired.

That was the beginning of a realization of a dream.

After the house concert, I was able to speak with David for just a few minutes. I told him about my dream of a paramusic career, how his story inspired me, how clearly that vision of our future home came to my mind, and I handed him my journal to sign. Here's what he wrote:

To Denice:

It's an Oak Tree
(all it needs is a place to grow and time--
because all it needs to know is inside)
It's inevitable.

David Wilcox

I've held that dream, that little tree in a cup, close to my heart and shielded it from those who would discourage me and laugh at my fragile sprouted acorn. I've shared it with those, including my husband, who could say, "Yes! Let me help you water that! I know a place where you can plant it!"

Shortly thereafter, we were able to purchase a beautiful piece of property which included a gorgeous hilltop that commands quite a view. And, indeed, our little acorn has begun to grow. That's not to say there haven't been times of drought along the way, but all the roots grow deeper when it's dry, don't they?

The Sprouted Acorn has been my working title. I have even found the most amazing photograph by photographer Dan Suzio, of a sprouting acorn. It will hang in my living room as a reminder of that little dream and how it grew.

And the house on the hill...we are building it JUST as I envisioned it that night in Wheaton.