No Roots

Came across a little piece I had written a few years ago in college, while I was taking a particular short story seminar. It’s pretty eccentric, but if you had read what we were reading in class, you’d understand why.

NO ROOTS

“C’mon, tell me! What new life languages have you learned since you came to the university?” asked my English professor.

The language of God.
The language of Jesus.
The language of agape.

My classmates and I resist nervously. They are afraid to answer. I do not understand why. I look out the window and rivet my eyes on a silent seagull. I am afraid to answer. I understand perfectly why.

One Korean foreign exchange student finally breaks the awkwardness.

“I’ve had to learn how to relate to other people in English.”

Relating to God.
Relating to Jesus.

The Spirit squeezes my heart, trying to put active life into it, trying to connect it to my tongue.

The seagull perches on the windowsill, peering into the room. He is quiet and pensive instead of the making the usual raucous and annoying cries.

Only I can see it. Only I know the reason for its silence.

The moment passes and my heart loosens into its squishy place. Fear is my momentary god. All I can think of is Psalm 40:9.

“I have proclaimed the good news of righteousness
In the great assembly;
Indeed, I do not restrain my lips,
O Lord, You Yourself know.
I have not hidden Your righteousness within
My heart; I have declared Your faithfulness
And Your salvation;
I have not concealed Your lovingkindness
And Your Truth from the great assembly.”

The tree outside perches on the window ledge, staring at me intently.

It nods. In agreement. One day, it shall clap out loud. Until then, obedient silence.

I look down at my leaves. They are falling.

The tree turns around, giving me a lingering farewell glance that seemed to say apologetically, “No roots?”

The last of my leaves are falling.

I can no longer be a tree.