“Picture
a tree,” the speaker said. “Picture the tree God made you to be, then picture
the tree that you are. I trust they are one and the same.”
Hmmm… I'd never been asked that before. Quickly prone to self-deprecation as I am, it was
easy to speedily imagine some spindly little something as representing me: a
scrawny, stressed and misshapen trunk; haphazard and broken branches; and
leaves that look like they have just been beaten down by a hailstorm or chewed
on by tent caterpillars! But I knew this was not accurate. God does not view me
so. And even if it were an accurate
portrayal, there’s always the parable of
the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree, where that spindly little something is
transformed by one’s (in my case, God’s) love, devotion and delight into a
thing of absolute beauty.
So I
pictured a mighty oak, a worthy specimen to be sure, an image of certain
strength and character. There’s even an attractive scripture from the prophet
Isaiah, “So they will be called oaks of
righteousness, a planting of the LORD that He may be glorified (Isaiah
61:3).” But somehow I did not feel like an oak. It’s not that I do not seek to
be righteous with all my heart, but a depiction as a sturdy oak belies my insecurities,
feels ostentatious, or for some
reason at least just did not feel right.
Trees
more frequently mentioned in the Bible are the Cedars of Lebanon. They, too,
are noted for their strength, but also for their use as gifts from kings to
kings, referenced to infer beauty and lavishness as a building material, and
even cited for their fragrance. That latter image is a nice one: I have often
desired to be found pleasantly fragrant to the Lord, a ‘sweet-smelling
sacrifice’ as the scriptures say. But even that title, “CEDARS OF LEBANON”
(stated in low, dramatic tones), seemed to denote an exotic quality from which
I retire.
What
else? I find in the Bible references to numerous fruit trees (date, fig, olive
and apple), and not infrequent mention of the ordinary sycamore, always
seemingly spoken of in almost pedestrian, unspecial fashion. These are the
common trees, widespread. No, I don’t see myself as a fruit or sycamore. Not
sure why… Maybe it’s the ridiculousness of the old pseudo-psychological
question, “If you were a fruit, what kind
would you be?!?”
As I thought
of it, the tree I saw in the Bible as most attractive is the one I often find
similarly so in my life today: the ordinary conifer pine. It is referenced in
scripture as a good building wood, and so it is known today. It is ubiquitously
utilitarian, easily worked, just appreciatively and enthusiastically used. I so desire to simply be spiritually used, utilized, employed, made
use of. But there are many other things about the conifer that are appealing.
It’s an evergreen, giving off a celebration of verdant life even in the
bleakest of seasons or moments. It provides constant and consistent shelter for
creatures that would take refuge within or beneath its boughs. It’s pleasant to
the visual, aural and olfactory senses. It holds up in storms far better than
hardwoods -- accommodating forceful winds, or bearing tremendous weights of
snow and ice -- bending but usually not breaking. And, not only physically but
figuratively, evergreens have long been held as symbols of fertility, of birth,
even now associated by implication with the incarnate birth of Jesus Christ,
Christmas...
I want to be known as
a mighty evergreen...
But there’s
one characteristic I like best: it stands with its brothers. In the untouched
natural world, one does not find large pines, or large conifers in general,
growing in isolation from each other. They grow in groves. Why? Because of an
interesting physical trait: conifers have no taproot, and their entire root
systems are quite shallow, so their roots intertwine with those of others and
they use each other for support. That’s why landscape-planted ones are commonly seen uprooted in
city front yards after windstorms; they’re not meant to be growing alone. They
grow in groups, and almost seem in the process to produce a quiet sanctuary as
sound is dispersed by the needles, with even a soft footfall beneath. Is it any
wonder that primitive humans often considered evergreen groves sacred places?
Quiet. Reverent.
A soft place to lie down. Pleasant to the senses. A hush from the
world...
So
that’s my tree, the tree God made me to be and the tree that I am. No mighty
oak for me. I want to be known as a mighty evergreen, even if the Charlie Brown
variety.
~~RGM, from an earlier nature journal entry,
revised December 5, 2014
