To hear the poet read "Am I Like a Tree," click here or on the title. planted by the water in this congregation, in my father's glen plaid jacket? What are these other well-dressed communicants doing here? My camel would balk at any attempt to drive him through the eye of a needle. What good would it do to abandon my father and my mother, now both gone anyway, and give my worldly goods to be sold? Yet I think I know what it means to take up my cross daily. What am I to make of this advice to seek first the kingdom of Heaven? The paths of righteousness are brambled over, aren't they? Rocky, and the footing is bad. Yet even I have sat down among stones rough-hewn into blocks two cubits on a side, and counted my money out in my hands to see if I could pay to have my tower built. Asters, I think it is, on the altar. Someone has laundered and starched the cloth and now it reflects whitely up onto the silver chalice as I would expect it to do at a luncheon in Heaven. Though I may join my voice with angels and archangels and with all the company of Heaven, evermore praising Thee and singing this hymn to proclaim the glory of Thy holy name; and though I may even be allowed sometimes to drink the cup of salvation and eat the bread of Heaven, I could never really cut it as a disciple. Step sure-footedly. Be a tree with roots. Have money in your hand. Kneel. Rejoice. We all know one fine morning we will be called upon to renounce in one breath all that we have.