It was All Saints Day 2012 when I first saw this sapling, took her photo, and discovered the purple light while reviewing my pictures at the end of the day. She became what I designated as Trudy’s Tree – my memorial to my sweet sister who had died that January. Each year adding another rock, a small cross created from sloughed-off tree bark, and eventually more rocks contributed by friends also visiting the monastery river walk.

In 2014, after my first thirty days in Spiritual Director school here in the monastery, and the day before I left, someone destroyed the cross and kicked all of the rocks away. (The ravens who met me everyday for thirty days had warned me on the path. But that’s another story.) I cried – no, make that wailed – and ran for prayers with the women facilitating the school. The next year, during the second half of my training in 2015, I rebuilt and returned nearly every year since.

In early February, 2024, I visited Trudy’s tree only to discover, someone had cut it down. So unbelievable it was to me that it was intentional, I examined the saw’s teeth marks. Only it’s short stubby trunk and crudely formed cross remained as did the rocks.

A man appeared about that time and suggested, after listening to my sad story, that I move the rocks to the, in his words, “The best tree in the woods.” He offered but I declined his help and sent him on his way. Then, with snot-slinging tears and broken heart, I moved the rocks to his suggested tree. A new heart formed. I called it The Pecos Heart. I sensed that it was bigger than Trudy or I. It was now a sign of love for all. (If interested, you can read more about that year’s experience https://theresawyatt.com/the-pecos-heart/ )

So, as I arrived this year, I was anxious to discover if the heart had survived. If it was still apparent. Still here. As I approached the huge tree, which I now agree just may be the best tree in the woods, I saw her peeking out from under autumn’s pine cones and pine needles. I stooped to begin clearing away the needles and noticed: had I placed these pinecones in the shape of an inner-heart?

Just then, a woman’s voice came from down the path a ways, announcing, “Hey, you found my heart.”

I could barely believe it! “Your heart?” I asked. “You know this heart?” She said, yes, she comes every day and tends it.

Over the next hour, I shared with her its beginnings and she talked about her calling to care for the heart. It became clearer and clearer the new name and its purpose. This is now “Heart for All.” I no longer hold ownership of this for myself or my sister.

Grief is an odd thing. It never leaves, ends, goes away. But in my experience, in this experience, I have come to see how grief does change shape and changes me. The fruits of grief, if I have patience-enough, are love. An even greater, broader, expansive and inclusive heart for all kinds of love that I could not have imagined at the first crack of tragedy.

This heart is now for you too. Heart for all, always. Or for as long as the woods wants.-theresa