Teach Tree (Lisa)

Once upon a time, a seed fell on a footpath along the well-traveled Alapocas Trail. The rains fell and the sun warmed the seed, until she grew into a promising sapling. Standing tall on the path she gave passersby cool shade, though becoming quite an inconvenience for hikers, blocking their path, slowing their progress.

One day, a ranger came along to cut the promising Black Gum down but for reasons only God knows, he stopped 1/3 of the way through. Still, the wounded tree was determined, so she healed in on herself, growing tall and strong, as if she knew her purpose.

During our daughter’s hospital stays I frequented this trail and her many intersecting footpaths on a near daily basis but I had never come upon this tree. Here, I would come to breathe, to pray, looking and listening for God, feeling the sacred all around me.

I stumbled on this tree, the day we were desperately trying to make a life-death decision for our Claire. We needed to choose for HER and not us. In between illnesses, she lived a rich full life, but now, she was slowly dying of pneumonia. Her only chance of survival meant a life-saving trach surgery; another risk, more pain, another incision, much like the one on this tree. The sight of the horizontal wound through bark and pulp, fairly fresh but healing, brought me to my knees. Through tears, I took this brave survivor as a sign, that our daughter too, would heal, that she too, had purpose in this life.

The inconvenience of this blessed tree caused people passing by to break their stride, to pause in their step. It made me think of all the pausing Claire’s fragile health and multiple disabilities caused in our own life path, all the people we met in those moments when we stepped away from everyday life, all the sacred holy highs and lows found in hospitals and waiting rooms, on trails and in churches. She slowed us down creating unforgettable moments, causing us to bend and reach where we might not have, were it not for the challenges of Claire. This was her great purpose. She made us pause and consider the sacredness of life.

I never saw that tree again. 6 years passed and Claire did grow and thrive impacting others until her dying day and beyond. Shortly after she passed, we remembered the tree and wondered, would we find it? had they cut it down? but there it remained just like Claire, nestled in, reaching for the sky and I again found myself on my knees kissing the wound, thanking God.

We continued to visit this tree, to rest in her shade, placing a picture of Claire at its base with a single smooth stone and a prayer. On the back of her picture, I shared a love letter, thanking Claire for all she had given us, thanking the tree for helping us with our decision and our good and gracious God for creating it all.

When we returned many months later, we found a healthy pile of stones nestled around tree and picture. That this tree broke a person’s stride, that a stranger to Claire, would then pause and possibly bend and reach for her picture, consider her worth, showing her love in that way, moved us to tears. Now, they too carry Claire in their hearts and her great purpose in this life carries on.

We are, none of us strangers now, recognizing and reflecting on the sacred whispers of God in all things, known and unknown; Claire, child of God, wounded tree, stone and earth, water and sky, man, woman and all creatures great and small. Our good and gracious God is in it all and so too, now, is our Claire.