There is a little plant that lives in a pot on my back porch. I have made a point to turn his face away from the sun but he, without fail, turns his face back toward the sun, back toward the ultimate source of his life.

I’ve studied the trees in the thick woods around my neighborhood and seen that a tree, the whole tree, will bend, twist and contort itself in painful looking ways to get its face into the sunlight.

I too have bent, twisted and contorted my mind, body, and spirit struggling, from birth, out of the den, the chaos, and the insanity that confronted me to raise my face up to my ultimate source, the light of God.