It’s not every day you encounter a burning bush and realize the ground you are standing on is holy.

The day it happened to me, I couldn’t feel the ground, as I wasn’t exactly standing: I was driving our SUV. And I couldn’t safely remove my shoes either (because of the driving). But as Lauren directed my attention to various trees and their fall foliage while we drove through a neighborhood a few months ago, we both beheld the most magnificent tree. There it was, appearing almost directly ahead of us as we came around a corner, standing where the road ended and split into a T intersection.

It stood there with its leaves blazing a brilliant and incandescent red, a doorway to the glorious, a messenger from another realm proclaiming the march of time and the changing of the seasons. It was the spirit of Fall incarnate, and for a moment everything slowed down just enough for me to comprehend that the ground that we drove on was holy asphalt.

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I’m used to seeing myself looking back when I gaze into the mirror. However, I am not used to gazing into the mirror and seeing, in place of my own, the face of my father.

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