A TREE GROWS IN BEEBE
Devastation. Disbelief. Despair. These were the emotions I felt as I gazed on
the property where I had spent eighteen years of my childhood, followed in the
years to come by numerous visits “back home” some of which were with my own
children. Here there had been a house
that held memories that were so much a part of my becoming the woman I would
grow to be. Here had been the home that
taught me values to build character; a home where joy and laughter were modeled
on a daily basis.
This was the home where I was loved so unconditionally and
taught that this was what you were supposed to do with all people no matter
what. Yes, no matter what. This home was
always my soft place to fall when I experienced failure, not only, as a child,
but also as an adult. From not making
the 10th grade cheerleading squad, which was a really big deal at
the time, to years later as a grown-up when I was to tell my daddy that I had
to get a divorce. This home was where my
first-born son called my mother, G-Mama, and his little brother took his first
steps. Because of my parents’ gift of hospitality, this was the home where
people were always stopping by for a late night chat around our kitchen table.
If the light was on in the kitchen that was the signal my parents were still awake.
They knew that Daddy would put on another pot of coffee and a warm conversation
would solve the problems of that day. For you see, this home was their soft
place to fall, too.
The tornado that year had pretty much wiped out my little
hometown. On that day, my mother had
gone down the street to my cousin’s home where they took shelter underneath a
dining room table. Little did she know
that she would never return to her own home again. It was too dangerous for her to revisit due
to all of the debris, downed wires and other destruction. So, my brother took her to his home while he
and I took on the task of saving what we could.
The home had shifted so that it would have to be bull-dozed eventually,
but not before we could have the opportunity to go pick up any tangible pieces
of our life left behind. Going through
that home, seeing it covered in mud, pieces of broken glass, and soaked in
water was an experience I would hope never to have again.
It took days for us to retrieve what was savable and it was
on one of those days that I noticed something that has stayed in the images of
my mind even now. I had run an errand in town and was returning home when I saw
it; one lone pine tree standing in my backyard reaching high to the heavens as
if it were proclaiming, “Hey, look up!”
I am still here! I survived the
storm! These were clear messages but
along with these was the message, “Yes, and I am alone.”
For the sake of background, when I was a child, we would go
on a family vacation in the summer to the same place, Hot Springs,
Arkansas. We would rent a cabin and
spend a lot of time fishing, swimming in the lake and enjoying family
time. On one of these occasions, my
daddy brought back several pine tree seedlings and planted them across our
backyard. I do not recall exactly how
many, but there were probably a dozen.
Over the years we watched them grow into tall, majestic trees that
brought so much beauty to our property. When the tornado hit, the powerful wind
took down all of the trees except this one.
The incredible thing is that I didn’t even notice them gone, at first,
because I didn’t look up in the beginning.
My eyes were entirely focused straight ahead at the loss in front of me. As I stated earlier, I had run an errand that morning up to Main Street and when I actually got back to the house was
when I noticed this lone tree. I stood there staring at this tree that had been
abandoned by all of the others that had stood beside it all those years. I kept thinking, “Why this one?” It took my stepping back and looking up, so to
speak, to notice what had been right in front of me. I wound up taking a
picture of the tree and am so glad that I did because it symbolizes so many
life experiences that I had and would experience: loss of a marriage, loss of my parents,
surviving cancer, children leaving the nest, friends moving away, career
changes and thoughts of my own mortality as I am aging.
When I think about that tree I relate to the times when I
have experienced loss yet also when I have experienced strength. I have wondered why I was a cancer survivor
when others were not. I grieve at the
loss of those who had stood by me all of my life, somewhat like the other pines
trees that had always been with this lone one. Sometimes I struggle with being
a “lone one” in my thoughts and dreams for myself. But this is coupled by the strength I feel by
looking at every day as a new opportunity to learn more, be a better friend, a
better teacher, a better mother, a better wife, a better everything.
Remember that I mentioned that I didn’t see that tree until
I looked up? Also, that I was a short distance away from it before I saw
it? There are two lessons here for me
that I think the tree has given me. To
look up for me is to seek God from where I try to draw clarity, meaning and
strength for every day. The second
lesson is that sometimes I need to step away from a situation, breathe, look at
where my feet are, and seek clarity that way.
There’s a hymn, “God Who Touches Earth With Beauty”, with
words by Mary S. Edgar, written over 90 years ago. These are two of her four
stanzas:
Like the dancing waves of sunlight,
Make me glad and free;
Like the straightness of the pine trees,
Let me upright be.
Like the arching of the heavens,
Lift my thoughts above;
Turn my dreams to noble action;
Ministries of love.
I couldn’t have expressed it better myself.
