Editorial: High school, college and losing a tree

We lost a tree yesterday, and I can’t help feeling like it’s a metaphor.

I don’t like losing a tree. I don’t hug trees, but I do like them a lot. I love trees for their shade, their fruit, their color. I love the sound of their leaves when the wind blows through them. I’m grateful for the oxygen they provide.

My parents planted two cherry trees when I was a teenager. They produced the best cherries I’ve ever eaten, and a lot of them.

I went to college out of state, got married. The trees grew taller, eventually too tall to harvest their top halves. The birds ate the cherries dad couldn’t reach. Then the graft on one of the trees gave out. Mom and dad couldn’t keep up with them and said it was time for the trees to go.

My brother-in-law and I cut down the trees under protest, and I hated every minute of it. I haven’t had as good a cherry since.

I remember as a kid climbing into a large tree with a book. It was in a city park. I chose a branch large enough I wasn’t likely to roll off either side and high enough I didn’t want to test that theory. And I sat reading my book. It’s one of my favorite memories.

I climbed plenty of trees as a kid—the higher the better. Somehow, though I was shorter, climbing trees was easier then than it is now. Perhaps because I was lighter and more agile then. And less afraid—read: mindful—of getting hurt, really hurt.

As a kid, I also wasn’t concerned with cleaning up leaves in the fall and flowers out of the gutters and sap off the cars parked underneath in the spring. I didn’t give any thought to their roots tearing up the foundation or water lines, or their branches damaging the roof or falling on a neighbor’s house or a car parked in the street.

Losing a tree

The tree we had removed yesterday wasn’t well when we moved into this house. We had it repaired, more than once. What we didn’t know is the damage was already too far along. We didn’t know, because we couldn’t see it. The damage was inside.

The signs were there for those with eyes to see, for those who know what they’re looking for. I knew there was a problem from some of the bark coming off of branches high in the tree. I hoped it wasn’t a pervasive problem. I was wrong. Vertical cracks that appeared in the lower trunks last week made that obvious.

This was too big a tree to put off what I didn’t want. So, I called tree removal services. The one we chose on Monday could be here Tuesday. That was yesterday.

Yesterday, we also moved our oldest into his freshmen dorm room and took our youngest to her first day in high school. We let go of more than a tree yesterday.

A metaphor eventually breaks down … just like a tree.

Our son going to college and our daughter starting high school isn’t a loss the way cutting down a tree is. It is a significant change, however—like taking a huge tree out of the landscape.

There is joy in our children growing up and going on to next stages. One reason for that joy is they are trees my wife and I have raised and under whose shade others will sit.

Even so, for a time, our home will look and feel different.

A metaphor

A tree, a big one, seems like it’s been there forever and will be there always.

But a tree, no matter how big or old, is always changing—just like us.

A tree needs regular care—just like us. And in a harsh environment, that tree—and we—need even more attentive care.

Would anyone disagree that we live in a harsh environment?

There are cracks in the wood. Maybe we “repaired” them. Maybe we spent good money repairing them, and maybe the damage was already too far along.

Inside, the rot was taking hold, growing, softening the wood, killing the tree. But rot doesn’t stay hidden forever.

The successive years of drought and hot summers, the two deep freezes over the last few years, the freak May storm this year—all worked together to hasten our tree’s demise. The only reason our tree stayed standing during the May storm was because of the bracing we had installed a few years ago. Internally, the tree was going, going, gone.

I can’t help feeling like that’s a metaphor.

Have we not faced successive years of stress—environmental, biological, societal, cultural, political, governmental, educational, ecclesiastical?

All of this has been obvious. We’ve all had eyes to see it. And whatever immediate damage was done, we cleaned it up and thought we could move on.

But the rot is inside.

Thankfully, the metaphor eventually breaks down.

Caring for trees

Every tree eventually will fall. But we’re not entirely like trees. Thankfully.

Despite the Fall, we don’t have to stay fallen. We can be restored, and not temporarily, but permanently.

Our Restorer can clean the rot from inside us—the malnourishment and malformation of our spirits, minds and wills. And we each have some rot. The Lord knows what it is. We might, too.

We must allow our Restorer to deal with the rot, lest we break apart and take others with us in the fall.

It will take more than temporary bracing. And it likely will take more than one quick treatment. It will take deep cleaning, vigilance and constant care.

*******

After the tree was down, we pulled off a piece of rot from the center of the trunk. It was squishy like a thin sponge. I showed it to my son between trips to his dorm and told him to squeeze it between his fingers.

“I don’t like that,” he said with disgust.

No, son. It’s not good. Pay attention to what’s inside. We don’t want to lose any more good trees. And you are a good tree.

Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at eric.black@baptiststandard.com. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.