I Thought I Was Teaching the Trees

How a childhood game became part of a revelation

I have always had a rather unusual relationship with trees.

Maybe it started when I was a little girl.

I used to play pretend school with them.

The trees were my students, and I was their teacher. I would stand there and teach them, talk to them, and even preach to them, convinced that somehow they understood me.

I can still smile when I think about it.

At the time, I thought I was the one with something to say.

I didn't know that years later, those same trees would become some of my greatest teachers.

I thought I was teaching the trees.

It turns out, they had quite a few things to teach me — enough, eventually, to fill a book. This is the story of how that happened.

I Have Always Loved the Quiet

There is something about a quiet afternoon surrounded by trees that makes my world slow down.

A cool breeze moving through the day. The sound of leaves. The stillness that seems to make room for thoughts that were difficult to hear before.

I love those moments — not because I am trying to escape life, but because I seem to notice more of it when everything gets quiet.

And in those moments, I don't necessarily see God standing in front of me. I see Him in His work. I see Him in what He has made.

A leaf can capture my attention. The veins running through it, carefully formed and unique to its kind, remind me that even the smallest details of creation are not insignificant.

There is thought behind it. There is intention. There is beauty.

And somehow, a simple leaf can make me think about the One who made it.

I find myself wondering how many things we pass every day without ever really seeing them. How many little details have been speaking about God while we were too busy to notice?

My Middle Name Is Tamara

My name is Mrs. Kenneisha Josephs, and I have always had a special love for my middle name, Tamara.

I love its association with the palm tree. Perhaps that is another reason trees have always held a special place in my heart.

But I think my love for nature goes deeper than simply appreciating how beautiful it is.

Nature slows me down. It makes me look. It makes me wonder. It makes me pay attention.

And sometimes, in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, I find myself thinking about the beginning.

The cool of the day. God walking in the garden. Fellowship between God and mankind.

There is something about that picture that has always moved me. God was not distant from His creation. He came near.

And I think there is something beautiful about discovering that the God who created everything still invites us to slow down enough to recognize His fingerprints — which is, in a sense, where the book I See Men As Trees began. Not as an idea I set out to write, but as something I kept noticing until I couldn't not write it.

And Then There Was Mark 8

Then there is that remarkable moment in the Gospel of Mark.

Jesus heals a blind man, and after Jesus touches him, He asks what he sees.

The man's response caught my attention:

"I see men as trees, walking."

What a strange thing to see.

The miracle itself is beautiful. A man who could not see is beginning to see.

But I couldn't get past those words.

Men as trees.

Why trees? What was it about the tree that made it part of what this man saw?

I began to wonder. Maybe the trees we see every day have more to teach us about ourselves than we realize.

What can a tree teach us about growth? About seasons? About roots? About fruit? About pruning? About endurance? About being planted? About becoming?

The more I looked, the more I began to notice.

The tree was no longer simply a tree.

It became a picture. A mirror. A question.

What If We Learned to Look Again?

That question began to follow me.

What if God has placed lessons in creation that we have become too accustomed to notice? What if the things we walk past every day could help us understand things we are struggling to see spiritually?

A tree doesn't hurry. It grows according to its design. It sends its roots downward while its branches reach upward. It survives seasons we may never witness. It stands through storms. It produces fruit in its appointed time.

And there are things about trees that began making me think about people.

About me. About you. About the process of becoming everything God has called us to be.

I started seeing creation differently. And perhaps more importantly, I started seeing myself differently.

I Am Still in the Garden

I want to be clear about something.

I don't write from a place of having everything figured out. I am simply a child of God who is still learning from her Heavenly Father.

I am still growing. Still listening. Still asking questions. Still discovering treasures in His Word. Still noticing things in His creation. Still learning what He is saying through ordinary moments.

And maybe that is why I love this journey so much — because I don't feel like I have arrived somewhere and now have all the answers to give you.

I am still in the Garden, too.

I am still learning to slow down. To observe. To listen. To look again.

And So, a Book Was Born

Eventually, I realized I couldn't keep all these thoughts to myself.

The revelation that began with those four words — "I see men as trees" — had become something I wanted to explore more deeply.

I wanted to look at the trees through Scripture. I wanted to pay attention to what creation could teach us about our walk with God.

And so I began writing. Not because I believe I have finished learning, but because I wanted to share what God had been showing me.

That became I See Men As Trees — a book about trees, yes. But really, it is about us.

About growth. About purpose. About seasons. About what happens beneath the surface. About the ways God shapes us. About learning to see what we might have overlooked.

And perhaps, about allowing God to restore our sight.

Come Into the Garden

I don't know what season you are in right now.

Maybe you are growing. Maybe you are waiting. Maybe you feel buried. Maybe you are being pruned. Maybe you are beginning again.

Or maybe, like me, you are simply learning to recognize what God has been saying all along.

Whatever season you're in, I hope you will slow down enough to notice.

Look at the trees. Look at the leaves. Look at the roots. Look at the seasons. Look again at Scripture.

And ask God what He might be showing you.

Because perhaps creation is saying more than we thought.

Perhaps the trees have something to show you, too.

If this is where you'd like to keep looking, I See Men As Trees picks up exactly where this post leaves off — walk through it with me, one tree at a time.

I am still in the Garden.

Come walk the journey with me.

Get the book · Join the Garden