Fearless Faith

If trees could talk: part one. A small scrubby oak tree less than waist high was given sporadic, sometimes grudging, attention this past year. It is not in a convenient place for watering because of having to lug buckets, and frankly, it isn’t much of a tree to look at either. It is in a place easy to forget and even easier to dismiss entirely. Then came the current year of disgruntled weather. The diminutive oak took it all without complaint: drought, cold, grasshoppers, and multiple hail days. It sprouted new leaves after every damaging event, determined to fulfill its purpose of producing acorns someday.

This week’s abrupt march into winter cut short the fall colors we had hoped for. There was, however one tree whose color stood out more than all the rest. Of course it was that same scrubby oak. There are trees that arborists dream of, but this is not one. It did however earn its keep and our respect for toughing it out. We are determined to take better care of it this coming year.

If trees could talk: part two. The large maple shading the house took it on the chin several times in the last few months. We nearly gave up hope over it, but with the best intent of encouraging it, we went to greater lengths than normal to provide more consistent water and fertilizer. We avoided all unnecessary trimming, including the small sucker branches on the trunk. We let them grow unfettered, suspecting that the tree could use as much leaf area as possible to manufacture the food necessary to carry it through winter.

Standing just off the back door, the maple is easy to reach a hand toward while walking by, allowing a brief mention and a small part, an entirely human perception of passing on a few good vibes. The tree had earned its stripes by enduring a challenging summer. It also earned a hug or two (or more) from a family member who reasoned that it couldn’t hurt.

Coincidence or not, the green leaves of the maple that in 25 years had always turned bright yellow in the fall, now showed some amazingly beautiful reds and oranges, but only in the particular spot that pats and hugs were given. It’s not something to lose sleep over, but in our more contemplative moments it continues to fire the imagination. Do we pay enough attention to such things?

Nurturing is not reserved merely for babies or children or the aged. We all need to recognize the positive values distilled from everyday life by caring for someone or something. Can we imagine God’s superb delight when we caretake the gifts of the natural world that have been given to us in trust?

Some argue that attention to our environment is only secondary to the need for up-close personal attention directed toward God. Attending to nature and creation is attending to God. In learning to care about creation, we also learn how to care for each other in less selfish ways.

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from where comes my help (Ps 121:1).” Out on these mountainless high plains, we’ll settle for a scrubby oak and a humble maple tree every time.