The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Dear Springhouse community,
This morning, as I sit by three lit candles looking out over the rolling hills on this misty day, I am thinking of a walk I took in the woods back in the fall. My mom had told me that the acorns would be plentiful—I forget why—but she was right. The acorns were everywhere. Anyone who knows me knows I like to collect acorns. I have kept them on my altar table at home, and at one time they were scattered around my office for some time. I even have a little stick figure holding a feather, made with an acorn by Springhouse staff member Juan Pablo. I love the unique shape of an acorn, and I love pondering their potential as I look at them. An oak tree is possible from a little sturdy seed that looks like it’s wearing a hat.
This past autumn, I walked the bumpy path down to the river on our farm and gathered acorns. I picked each one up, looked at it from top to bottom, and put it in my pocket. As my pockets were getting full, I bent down to pick up one of the last ones of the day, and it didn’t come right up. I tugged a little, and it still wouldn’t let loose. I got down on my knees to see what was happening, and saw that this little acorn had sprouted—a small green shoot had made its way confidently into the Earth. It’s rare that I come across a rooted acorn. It felt like an awesome moment. A thousand forests are in one acorn, Emerson says. Grand changes begin with one small action, held in place over time.
Thinking about this, I am reminded of the power of agency—the power of my choices, of remembering what is within my control and what is not. I can choose to be intentional in the ways I send my life outward. I am also reminded of the power of place—our actions are grounded and meaningful when rooted somewhere, especially when we choose fertile ground and stay there over time. In a world where novelty and distraction reign, choosing to let life unfold in place, over time, is a rare and challenging choice. Finally, I am reminded of the power of time. Life moves and time passes—slowly or quickly, it is always changing. When I am intentional with my actions and with where I allow them to take root, I help life come forth as time passes.
I come from a long lineage of people who carried great determination and resilience. That strength grew from many challenging life experiences, including generations of living with alcoholism and its effects. The ground of alcoholism produces certain fruits—doing for others what they can do for themselves, being dominant or avoidant, trying to change what is not mine to change. I have found that the ground of recovery produces entirely different fruits—understanding more clearly what is within my power and what is not, choosing more wisely where I will take root, and being responsible for my feelings and actions rather than others’. Ground matters. The ground of alcoholism coaxed forth survival strategies that no longer serve my life. The ground of recovery—a consistent place to practice new ways of living in a worldwide fellowship of support, with guidance and mentorship—has not only coaxed forth a new sprout in me, it has given me a place to take root for decades now, in what is becoming an old-growth forest. There is so much wisdom in that forest, and plenty of shelter for learning how to weather the storms of life.
Springhouse exists to be a place that protects, supports, and invites forth the “spring” or the life in each person, across all ages. We ask ourselves regularly at Springhouse: Is the ground we are cultivating at Springhouse responding to what life is asking of us now, or is it reflecting the educational patterns we were raised in? Are we brave enough to listen for what wants to come forth—even if unfamiliar—and allow it? These questions, and the many others we hold, are full of potential; especially because we have a place where our learning can take root and grow.
My prayer is that we listen deeply to the waters that want to flow through our community and respond accordingly—one day at a time. One acorn creates a thousand forests. One spring can flow into many as they return to the ocean. I often say, “Let it begin with me.” Life-giving change starts with one person—and then one community—listening to what is coming forth, like the tiny sprout of an acorn, and having the courage and determination to allow it to take root and grow.
Thank you for being part of a community committed to listening and responding. We are deeply grateful for your participation and support. If you are new to Springhouse, there are many ways to get involved. Learn more at springhouse.org. If you feel called to support our work, we are seeking 100 new monthly contributors in the month of December. Learn more here.
With love and appreciation,
Jenny
