There
are lessons to be learned from these trees. I am learning that God reveals
visual metaphors for deep realities of life and faith if we work to quiet
ourselves, come apart from all the distractions, and just look and listen.
Thanks to the generosity of friends who have allowed us to use their cabin in
the woods for the last ten years, I’ve gotten to know these trees better and
better with each annual visit. They are fascinating. And they are teaching me.
One
of my “happy places” is in this chair. There are two of them on this deck. At
times, I’ve sat in this chair with my wife or one of my kids in the other, just
talking. In the morning, this chair has become a place to read and ponder God’s
Word. There are also days where I sit in this chair and just look around. The
view is rather simple as you can only see trees and sky. It’s a view that’s
never gotten old. That’s how I’ve come to know these trees that otherwise might just be background "noise."
Over
the years the contrast between these trees and the trees in my yard at home has
become marked. They are so different. At home, the trees in my yard were all
planted by me when we moved into the house twenty-two years ago. They were
carefully placed and spaced. They’ve grown up and out, becoming fuller and
taller as the years have passed. They’ve all had room to grow.
The
trees I’ve come to know here at this cabin are different. This forest is dense,
with trees growing sometimes just a foot or two from each other. When you look at these trees, the first thing
you notice is their height. They are tall. You also notice that their height
had to be achieved rather quickly. You know this because their trunks are
relatively thin compared to our trees at home. You realize that the reason for
this is the thickness of this forest. To survive, a tree has to grow up quickly in order to reach for the
sunlight that gives it life, that nourishes it, and that sustains it. Branches
and leaves are markedly absent from the lower three quarters of these trees.
Rather, they are more abundant near the top, where they are able to see and
benefit from the sun.
But
scattered amongst these many living trees are both standing and fallen dead
trees. They started to grow, but never made it. I’m not an arborist, but to my
untrained eyes it appears that these trees never made it to the heights where
they could benefit from the sun that gives life. At some point, life left them.
One
tree that I find absolutely fascinating sits just off the deck. It reaches just
as high as the others. At its top it is filled with healthy looking branches
covered with green leaves. But as your eyes drop to where this tree meets the
ground, you quickly realize that at some point, this tree was so traumatized
that it started to die. But there, on either side of the death in the trunk, is
life. Almost like two veins running up from the roots to the heights, there are
these two compensatory “auxiliary trunks” (I’m sure there’s an actual name for
these. . . I, however, don’t know what it is!) that take moisture and
nourishment to the top. And so, it continues to grow to the point where at its’
top, it is indistinguishable from all the other trees in this forest.
Yesterday
afternoon, while the sun was shining brightly, I sat and looked carefully at
these trees. I compared the tall trees, the dead trees, and the tree that
somehow kept struggling and reaching in spite of its’ trauma. What immediately
came to mind was my own need to battle and reach for the light of the truths of
God’s Word if I am going to survive and thrive with abundance in this world that
is filled with noise, diversion, clutter, and the empty promises of so many
false redeemers. I recalled what we so often told our youth group kids
twenty-five years ago and more when we would talk about the many competing
voices and choices they would face in this world. “When God calls you into a
relationship with Himself, do all you can to pursue the voice of Jesus,” we
would say. “He alone is the way, the truth, the life, and the light of the
world. He is the one who gives you life. Seek Him and bathe yourself in the
Word.” Now, twenty-five years later, the kids that sat in that room are represented by all these kinds of trees.
As
I look at these trees I pray for myself. . . for my family. . . and for those
who are younger. I pray that we will pursue the truth. I pray that we will be
brought to life rather than death. And I pray that God in His faithfulness will
work through any trauma, woundedness, or hurt that would leave us dead. . . and
that we would through His mercy and grace overcome these things to live and
grow into His light.