My Village Green

One of the highlights of my collegiate career was the day Adrian Pulfer changed the design curriculum from  "Debating the Virtues of Serifs" to watching The Man Who Planted Trees, the 30-minute animated short that won an Academy Award in 1988. I had already pledged allegiance to the mighty acorn thanks to the deciduous play days of my Missouri childhood but this cranked it up a notch. Years later, after Amazon but before Youtube, I bought the DVD for somewhere in the $70 region. I loved it that much. This is the blurb on the back of the case:

The Man Who Planted Trees (based on the story by Jean Giono) tells the story of a solitary shepherd who patiently plants and nurtures a forest of thousands of trees, single-handedly transforming his arid surroundings into a thriving oasis. Undeterred by two World Wars, and without any thought of personal reward, the shepherd tirelessly sows his seeds and acorns with the greatest care. As if by magic, a barren landscape grows green again. A film of great beauty and hope, this story is a remarkable parable for all ages and an inspiring testament to the power of one person.

Parables are magic because their meanings can vary depending on the vantage point they are viewed from. The 20-something artist and believer in me couldn't help but gawk at the mesmerizing illustrations and add my witness to the moral of the tale. The 40-something veteran who recently put the crib in storage loves it for reasons much deeper.

The defining experience in my life thus far has been waiting for and receiving my boys.* I think I typically remember it like this: years of desert, babies arrived, BAM! instant oasis. The babies fixed all. But rewatching this movie corrected my synthesis; I saw my personal landscape morph through a time-lapse capture and was shocked I had missed the obvious.

I had missed the acorns.

Year in and year out Heavenly Father planted many presoaked and hand-selected acorns in my life knowing their slow, consistent presence would change my wasteland to a government-protected, sprawling French forest. Friends with roots, who weren't going anywhere, began to stake claims in my happiness. Their growth slowed the howling winds; they buffered the reality of my elements. Their goodness attracted more life; where there was once only windswept rock a bunny now nibbled on yellow flowers near a brook.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland said, "We may not be able to alter the journey, but we can make sure no one walks it alone." Acorns didn't change my path—I still had to walk the long road to Labor & Delivery that was meant for me—but they did change my life. Scenery shifting for another man's travels is no small feat. For years I begged Don't leave me here alone and He remained my companion; I came to know God from glimpsing his reflection in every polished acorn around me.

The thing with my acorns is that individually they were each exactly what I needed when they sprouted in my life. Are there made-to-order acorns? Of course there are! Heavenly Father is the paternal pinpoint planter! Sometimes I needed a crying shoulder, sometimes I just needed a laugh. Sometimes I needed wisdom, other times I needed a girls' night out. Once I got hard news on the phone when I was driving and needed someone close; I flipped a U-turn and was at an acorn's house in less than a minute. I needed prayers and hope. I needed phone calls, porch chats, and walks around the block. I needed empathetic surprise visits. I needed arts and crafts. I needed someone else to magnify what was beautiful in the world. And, when it was finally time, I needed a big ol' baby shower!

My babies were miracles, no doubt, but they might not have seemed as such if they had been born on a dry, thirsty day over a lonely parcel of dirt. My babies' birth certificates declare the extraordinary environment they took their first breaths in. Place of birth: Tight and Happy Village, Bustling Town Square, Beside a Deep Well Filled Years Before by Chosen Acorns

Ah, the power of acorns. You have to be patient if you plant an acorn but my destiny was to witness the production of a forest from the potential of ground zero. I was a spectator to creation, thinning, mingling, towering, and the subsequent chirps, buzzes, and bouquets they offered.

I wanted a big change, one that came wrapped in a swaddle blanket cocoon, so much that I nearly missed the big picture, the one of a wooded village green caused by small and simple acorns. They were underfoot every step of my way, doing their best to create itty-bitty-turned-oaky miracles.

*The second was moving. I needed a love parade on my way out of town and a scrapbook full of Polaroids to prove the forest was real. I also needed a little sack of acorns to stick around and punctuate the fragile overlap of my old and new life. The Lord provided in that regard, too.

Quote by Elder Holland taken from "Bearing One Another's Burdens", Ensign, June 2018

Link to the film