Fallen Trees

 

The leylandii has towered over the garage for decades. Doug can’t remember a time it wasn’t there. I can remember Don planting it. It was a bit of stage scenery for a fashion show at the wedding exhibitions he organised. Small. In a pot.

We had no idea.

It grew like Jack’s beanstalk – fast and strong. It broadened its base and stretched ever higher. Twice, fierce winds brought a branch down, and I began to realise it had to be taken out.

A tree surgeon came a couple of days ago. With quiet confidence, he scaled one of the trunks, only harnessed with a rope. A chain saw hung from his waist. Professionally, he began to dismantle this noble tree. Over the course of two afternoons, he has brought down several of the trunks and cut them into logs. Three or four spindly-ish trunks remain for his final foray.

Screened off for decades, the Hill of Fare has re-emerged into view. My perspective has broadened; my vision has opened out. It’s a view I used to have, which became obscured by the overgrown tree.

On this Hogmanay, heading into 2021, I hope to take some time to sit with God and allow him to identify the overgrown leylandii in my life. The ideas and assumptions which have grown steadily during my lifetime and obscured truths which I used to recognise. I fear I may have grown attached to some of them. I may be reluctant to see them go.

It’s sad seeing a healthy tree go down, but I am relieved to have a view back. May it be so in my understanding as well, as wrong ideas are removed so that I can see clearly once more. So grateful that God has time to help me do this.

Happy and healthy New Year.