The Tree

Ever since my granddaughter C.J. was born, my son Matt and daughter-in-law Becca have peppered me with questions about things Matt did when he was a little guy. Questions like "Did I cry a lot when I was a baby?" or "How old was Matt when he crawled?" or "Did I have colic?" or "Was Matt this busy when he was so little?" or the most recent ones ... "Was I climber?" and "Did he climb on every single thing all day long???" And my answers ... he did; he never did, he stood up and walked when he was 8 months old; he still has a weird stomach; if he was, I don't remember it; nope and nope. Obviously, C.J. is indeed a climber, which she must have inherited from her Uncle Brad ... yep, it was Bradley who climbed on every single thing all day long. Once, I walked into the kitchen and found him happily sitting on top of the fridge, and when he was old enough, he spent more time in trees than he did on the ground. I used to say he was the monkey of the family ... Matt was the cautious one ... Meghann was the social butterfly ... and Bradley ... Bradley was the refrigerator, furniture, tree-climbing monkey.

Trees have meaning for me, and they have since I was very young. In fact, this blog is named after the structure that sat in the first tree in my life that still elicits deep emotion within me each time I think of it. I can close my eyes and picture it, the tree that stood in the yard next to my brother Jerry's house on Haywood Drive. I remember the day Jerry built the tree house in that tree, and I remember the first time we climbed the ladder and ate cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches under the stars. The massive oak tree that stood behind my parents' home is another of those trees that holds special meaning for me ... for many, many years, a metal swing hung from the lowest limb of that tree. I remember Daddy pushing me in the swing, and I pushed my old children in it as well. The tree eventually died and Mom had it cut down, but the last time I was home before the old tree was no more, I sat on the back porch watching the same swing sway in the gentle Tennessee breeze.

There are a couple of other trees out on my walking trail that have claimed spots in my heart as well ... two trees that I see every time I go for a walk, every single time. One is the tree that I spent countless evenings sitting under with J.R. snuggled in my arms ... that tree was where we would always stop and rest, a habit that was started back when I was too overweight to walk very far without getting winded. It's the tree where I've sat recently and read two special stories from the Bible to Oliver ... I know that sounds crazy, but there's a reason, trust me. The other tree on the trail that has one of those spots in my heart ... well ... that tree is the one I've smacked myself on ... more than once, including tonight. I'm not sure why, but if I'm going to walk head-on into a tree, it's always that same tree. It's not like it's in the middle of the trail, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't move itself into my path, but I have slammed into that stinking tree over and over again. But ... every single time I've hit the tree, I've been deep in thought or deep in tears, my head down and my eyes glued to the ground below my feet.

Here's the thing, friends ... I hit the tree when I'm not looking up ... I hit the tree when I'm not looking at what's ahead of me ... I hit the tree when I'm focused on what's weighing me down rather than what lies before me. And tonight ... tonight, I hit the tree so hard that it knocked both my ball cap and my glasses to the ground. The bill of my cap kept my face from taking a direct hit, but I've got a knot on the top of my head that is already sore to the touch this evening. Once I got my cap and glasses back on and started on my way again, a thought pounded in my brain stronger than the pain from the bump on my head.

"You've slammed into the tree, child ... you've slammed into the tree because you aren't watching Me. You've smacked the tree again because you refuse to look at what I've put before you. I know your heart is heavy ... I began its beating. I know your spirit is burdened ... I breathed it into existence. I know your mind is weary ... I created its first thoughts. Look up ... watch Me ... trust Me ... listen to Me. Ears wide open, Terrie ... ears wide open. Remember the tree that held my Son for you ... ears wide open, Terrie ... ears wide open."