The Gift of Eleven Trees

2 Corinthians 12:7-10
Therefore, to keep me from being too elated, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness." So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.

Proverbs 16:18-19
Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. It is better to be of a lowly spirit among the poor than to divide the spoil with the proud.

The gift trees were seedlings. They were to be transplanted from Colorado to Virginia, via commercial airline baggage. Plastic bags were placed inside a cardboard box, along with the soil and trees, and were clearly marked “Colorado Spruce Trees.”

I had picked six trees from my friends home a few miles west of Denver, a ranch filled with spruce, and filled with spruce seedlings that had but little chance of survival, since they were growing too close along the dirt road that led into the old farmhouse.

“I’ve got a better box,” said my friend. “Let me pack them up for you tonight,” which was reasonable in this time before close airport security.

When they arrived with my luggage in Virginia, and were unpacked the following day, I was surprised to find eleven trees, instead of six, each with a tag. The tags bore the names of himself and his wife, myself and my wife, their three children, and our three children, plus the wife of the one son who was married. What was meant to be an opportunity to plant a few trees on our acreage in the east, quickly became a bonding of families.

The trees were of various vitality, and their placement upon the property took some thought. On the way up to the house, just to the left of the steep road, “Melissa,” my friend’s daughter’s tree, was planted. In front of the house “John,” my son’s tree, was planted, and “Ellen,” his wife’s tree, was planted nearby. In the back of the house, just behind the septic field, I planted all the other sons’ trees, “Aaron, Andrew, Matthew and Mark,” wonderfully Biblical names. “Rick” and “Pat,” my friend’s trees, were also planted in the back, except “Rick, the second healthiest tree of the eleven, was planted in the middle of the septic field.

Only two trees were left, “Mary Ann and Richard.” Since the property was heavily wooded, it seemed reasonable to plant Mary Ann’s tree in the shaded woods, some distance from the rest, and to plant my own tree on the top of the rocky knoll that looked out over miles of beautiful mountains. That my tree was especially good looking and virile pleased me. It would look good on the mountain top.

So they were all planted, and the years passed, and all of the trees flourished except two, “Mary Ann and Richard.” Though Mary Ann’s tree was not in as much danger of survival as Richard’s, after several winters, Richard’s own little stalk had diminished to a pitiful spike, ready to say farewell to this earth. It was clear: either Richard’s tree was to be transplanted from its lofty perch, or it would surely die. Since it was nearly as easy to transplant two little trees as one, the deed was done.

Mary’s Ann’s tree took up new residence in the back yard among the children’s trees. Richard’s own pitiful twig was planted below all the others at the very bottom of the septic system. Oh, the indignity of it all!

The first spring after the transplant, Mary Ann’s tree showed growth, but Richard’s did not. Then the twister storm came that felled dozens of poplar and oak trees around the house, some of which straddled the struggling sprig tree named “Richard.” A large stake was placed near the surviving spruce tree, for now it was growing lower than the healthy clumps of grass in the leach field near the edge of the woods.

Chain saws and machinery worked around the fallen trees for months. Miraculously, the needle thin spruce tree suffered no further damage.

Another spring came, and spring-green came too, on all of the trees, including “Richard.” Soft needles pushed out on the ends of twigs that had been dry and brittle just two years earlier. Life and growth, and God-willing, someday seed will be possible from that which had been planted too high, and too dry for its own well-being. Oh, the grace of it all---the grace of transformation---the grace of power made perfect in weakness---the grace of beginning again, in richer soil, darker humus, off the mountain top and among the family.

Luke 13:6-10
Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”