I took a photograph of this dead tree that stands in the river that runs northwest west of my home. It’s bleached bark and broken top along with no visible branches caught my eye as I observed it from across the road where I was perched on a big rock taking a break from my morning bike ride. As you can see, lush grasses and other trees surround this lone, lifeless tree. If this once vibrant tree could talk, what story would it tell?

Perhaps the tree would begin describing how it came to be planted in its location. Was it rooted here with careful selection by someone or did the wind carry a seedling on lofty breezes until it landed softly amidst the fine greenery years ago? Whatever the origin, the seedling took root, grew over the years, experiencing the change of seasons that Michigan offers. The tree withstood blustery snowstorms, downpours of rain, and the dryness of hot summers until it could no longer fight back against the forces that pelted it with unrelenting hammering.  While other trees may have been able to endure many effects of “life”, this tree managed until it could no longer persevere and draw nourishment from the very roots and sap line that once provided beauty and purpose.

My life often parallels this lone tree. Though I was planted in a wonderful family, there were times of disappointments. Fear. Unknowns. Death. Brokenness. Like the harshness of Michigan’s seasons, so is life when the sun doesn’t shine and failures come in the form of broken relationships and imperfections rooted in sin. And, seeing this lone tree standing somewhat tall and unhidden from passers by, is a visual reminder that my life is an open book to those I call family and friends who lovingly surround me offering love and support, going so far as to “shade” me when circumstances are unbearable. I’ve had my share of ups and downs. I’ve endured situations beyond my control. I did not always perform my best during those hard times, but I made it. I’m not stripped away. I have deep roots descending into a  faith that is my tap root. My senses behold warmth, beauty, and love as I take in and absorb all that surrounds me.

I’m thankful for the privilege of seeing this tree and attempting to “imagine its story”. I hope it has the ability to remain in its place for many years to come and even though most people would call it “dead”, I prefer to see it as “a reminder of past, present, and future”. Hold on dear tree, hold on. You still have purpose.