A Lone Pine

 

A lone pine.

We’d heard the saws, the roaring engines. Seen the signs warning of dangers because logging was underway. When silence returned, I took a walk.

The familiar path, familiar over forty-five years of treading, was still there, but suddenly I was lost. The road split, but not where I expected: the curtain and fabric of trees was gone. Years of building dens with children and grandchildren, of engineering and damming puddles and ditches, erased. I didn’t recognise the terrain.

With a shock, I recognised that the apocalyptic landscape now piled high with tree trunks was our former playground. I stood in silence in the late afternoon sun, mourning the loss. Those trees bore witness to so many heartfelt prayers poured out by me. Prayers of grief and sorrow. Prayers of petition and desperation. Prayers of joy and celebration. Prayers of peace.

A place of exploration for the kids – just weeks ago three of our grandchildren found badgers’ dens there. Where have they gone, I wonder, those homeless badgers?

Then I saw the tree, alone and askew. It must have stood at the edge of the forest, its outer half reaching out to sunlight and warmth, its inner half stunted by shadow and other trees. It stands deformed, rooted but unbalanced, incomplete.

I had been reading the obituary of a pastor who had very strong views about certain aspects and branches of Christian teaching and expression. Perhaps he had remained rooted in Jesus, but his experiences or teaching skewed his growth so that he flourished on one side, while stunted on the other.

Lord, may I receive from you and you alone, so that I remain rooted and abiding in Jesus, spreading his branches of love and light, mercy and grace, in all directions, providing shade and sanctuary on all sides. Where my understanding and growth have been stunted, bring your healing restoration, I pray.