A Battle of Trees…when we don’t quite get what we thought we wanted
I am not a good gift-giver. My husband will be the first to agree. He (lovingly) makes fun of the cheap small camera I gave him for his college graduation(which made perfect sense to me since all he had was an enormous, fancy one that he rarely used). Then there was the talking globe that I gave him when he was a high school teacher (math, not geography) which he promptly returned.
My latest shenanigan? A love seat recliner for our bedroom. Except, my son and I got it stuck in the stairwell and couldn’t get it out before he got home (there went the surprise factor). Too tired to try moving it, we all just climbed over it for a few days. I finally got a friend to come over and help me get it up the stairs into our room…only to find that it didn’t fit through our bedroom doorway. It’s now in his study, where the kids sometimes enjoy reading. (Maybe it was a good gift for them?)
So, yeah, he tends to pick out his own Christmas present each year and lowers his expectations drastically for other gift-receiving occasions.
Sometimes, it’s just better to know what you’re getting, isn’t it?
I had no idea what I was getting when I adopted my daughter. I always imagined a relationship similar to the one I had with my mom, filled with calm, “girly” activities, lots of gentle affection and, well, an overall lack of mud. The first six-and-a-half few years with my girl were a struggle (that’s an understatement) of me trying to mold her into who I thought she should be.
Someone, you know, more like me.
That’s when God blew me away with an analogy I’ll never forget:
My daughter is an Oak tree,
not a Bradford Pear.
Let me explain…
Studying the book of Isaiah, I came across something totally new. (I love how God’s Word continues to speak fresh truth to me, even through scriptures I’ve read for years).
In chapter 61 it says, “The Lord has anointed me …to grant to those who mourn in Zion – to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that they may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”
I was immediately reminded of our 1st neighborhood in North Carolina. This neighborhood was lined with adorable Bradford Pear trees. Many people love these trees because they are perfectly symmetrical and grow in a beautiful shape. But Bradford Pear trees are structurally weak. They only maintain their shape for a short time until snow or heavy winds cause them to break in half. They don’t produce fruit, and they sometimes prevent the grass below them from growing. They’re basically ornamental and slightly selfish.
One spring night, we had an uncharacteristic ice storm. The following day brought the unmistakeable sound of multiple chainsaws. Over half of the neatly arranged Bradford Pears had split in the night due to the severe weight of the ice, and now we were all forced to turn them into mulch.
But oak trees are a different story. Oak trees are built strong, allowing them to live for hundreds of years. An acid in the leaves and bark actually protects the tree against fungi and insects. The can even send up new sprouts from their roots if they are burned down or eaten by animals. And they’re fantastic for climbing!
See where God was taking me with this one?
I was trying to plant a Bradford Pear,
but GOD was planting an Oak.
Maybe she’d rather be playing in the mud with her older brothers, (whom she can probably single-handedly take down, should a wrestling match ensue), but she has great capacity to provide shade for the world and stand strong through the storms she will inevitably face in her future. And even if circumstances (or choices) keep knocking her down, a foundation has been rooted in strength that will continue to foster new growth in her beautiful life.
Yeah, the Bradford pear was dainty, predictable and (I thought) controllable. But I’ll take my Oak tree any day.
Is God trying to form an Oak tree out of a situation in your life? What steps will you take to stop pining for the Pear tree and relish the strength of the Oak?
