Throughout these seasons and years I have seen myself and the process of Christian growth portrayed as in a parable in much of the maple's life cycle.

 
Photograph by Graham Cooper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 








 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



  


The Planting of the Lord

    When we first moved to Bittersweet Avenue there was a beautiful little maple tree in our front yard. I have loved that tree ever since. It has become integrated into our family photos through the years. The maple and the children have grown up together. The first comparison of growth is captured in a photograph taken during our first year in the house in 1980. Our young daughter was standing in the crotch of the tree which she could easily step up into. The years have passed and I now lift my young grandson high into that same spot to snap his picture.

    The little tree has been the focus of many of the meditations in my personal journal. Throughout these seasons and years I have seen myself and the process of Christian growth portrayed as in a parable in much of the maple's life cycle. Along that vein there has been much to contemplate as I have observed its nakedness and vulnerability in the wintertime. I've also noticed its springtime budding and the fun little seeds that spiral to the ground in the gentle breeze. Regarding the roots of the tree, I've considered how much greater and stronger they must be than its visible parts to hold it so securely in place throughout every season and every kind of weather.

    I love it when the tender leaves come to full growth once again and the neighborhood children come to play beneath its branches. The leaves are hearty and green until the summer sap retreats and the leaves begin to lose their grip. Their glory is seen as their days are dwindling. The wind is then able to loosen them from the tree as their strength fails at last. Then the leaves are gone to make way for another generation that will be there in the spring, their buds already visible. I see the old leaves are really compost, fertilizing the tree so it can sustain new ones.

    I have always identified with that tree. I see it as feminine because of the way it looks adorned with its blossoms in the springtime. When the tree was small I remember noting its beautiful delicate shape. This too was feminine, I thought. One day, several years ago, as I was admiring the tree through the window, something struck me that I had never noticed before. My beautiful tree no longer had a full and healthy form. Yes, it was still pretty and still healthy, but very clearly it was misshapen. I just had not noticed it before.

    Then I realized why the tree was misshapen. Next door there is a big old oak. The oak was there before my maple and it is many times larger so it hovers over it. Also, in the side yard, there are several tall pines. These keep the whole west side of the maple in the shade. Hence it has only put out a couple of puny branches on that side. But, to the east, its strong healthy branches reach toward the heavens and nest the birds and shade the yard.

    Because of previous lessons I had learned from these reflections, I felt the Lord had a message for me in this observation as well, so I waited to see what it might be. And then I saw what I had not seen before. My life too was misshapen. I had spent much time digging in my roots and I lifted my branches to the heavens. I spent plenty of time in solitude seeking the Lord and studying His Word. I drank in the rain of His presence and basked in His light. But I was developing one side of my life to the neglect of the other.

    The other, the Spirit said, was reaching out and moving among the world outside the church, outside my precious circle of like-minded friends who gave me constant affirmation and encouragement. That circle was tight. I loved it. There was no risk. "But Lord, I need them," I protested. "Jesus did not cloister Himself nor is that what He told you to do," was His response.

    Almost immediately I was lead to a place less comfortable and more challenging. Not everyone believed as I did. I took a job in the marketplace and began to rub elbows with people of all different faiths and religions and even the non-religious. I was very uncomfortable at first, but then I began to see how salt and light are needed in the dark, wounded world.

    I must say I miss my safe, comfortable world, but I do not identify with that tree any longer. I know God is growing me. He is building branches that, abiding in Him, reach into the shadows where the need is and not just into the light.

Copyright Daphne Harrington 1999