Be a Tree

I discovered a book of short stories by Philip Gulley, Front Porch Tales, when we lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana. After that I found two more and this Quaker pastor began holding my hand in many a waiting room. His stories about small town living, family and faith were worth repeating. It turns out Indiana small towns are a lot like Kansas small towns so his tales were comforts of home.

We packed up and left Indiana, moving to Gainesville Florida in 1999, then closer to home in Derby Kansas in 2001 and settled here to Douglass, KS in December of ‘03.

We were closer to home when Mr.1inamillion was diagnosed with sarcomas 2 and 3, however I was alone again in a waiting room. This time it was in Kansas City and I fell apart. (Well, as much as I do.) We had been through this drama once before and quite frankly, we wanted it left in Indiana. I was overwhelmed with memories and fear for how hard this would be on our young children. They sent in someone who specialized in children education to ‘prepare me’ for talking with them and I began praying adamantly. Please, Lord, let this be easy on my children.

Later days ahead, still adamantly praying for ease, someone emailed me a bible verse for comfort. I wanted to read the text surrounding it and I’m ashamed to admit it, had to go on a hunt to do so. I was very pregnant with Lucy when we last moved, so there was a lot that was never unpacked and sadly was not missed. The search led me to the basement storage room that was in need of a light bulb.

Balancing on top of boxes on top of a chair, I changed the light bulb and looked down. Right in front of me was an open box of books, my bible staring me in the face alongside my copy of Front Porch Tales. So essentially I saw the light and God spoke to me. And He told me to shut up.

The verse I received was Jeremiah 29:11, but truly the real words He had for me at that moment came from Pastor Gulley.

The first story in Front Porch Tales is about an old neighbor and his method of plant husbandry. Young Phil’s neighbor had 10 acres he intended to become a forest. Old Doctor Gibbs planted trees but refused to water them. His theory? Watering made weak trees with shallow roots. Trees that had to search for water on their own gained deep roots and grew granite strong. The neighbor even beat his young trees with a newspaper, to weed out the sissies. His story continues to talk of wimpy trees he planted and babied as an adult, versus the strong forest of Dr. Gibbs. He spoke of praying for his children; of changing his prayer that their lives will be easy because life inevitably has storms that hit us at the core. He sums it up by stating we need to pray for roots that reach deep into the Eternal so that when those storms hit, we won’t be swept away.

God’s message was clear and I got it. And it got me thinking. My roots had grown deep in the church we were again attending with my children. And they grew deeper still amidst the challenges Parkinson’s Disease had dealt my mother. Yup, Thing 1 and Thing 2 would be just fine.

You won’t hear me apologize to them when they complain life is unfair. You might, however, over hear the charge, “Be a tree! Let’s bend in the wind & go with the flow,” when we are forced to change course. We are strong because we’re flexible, I tell them. I don’t dare attempt to explain that they’re growing deep roots so they can weather future storms. When the opportunity is there, though, I do throw in a story of my own about growing up with Grandma.