There’s this tree in the park…

There’s an old tree in the park where I run that fascinates me. On most mornings, I try to route myself so that I jog past it. It appears to have grown for some time and then fallen. The roots, which stick jaggedly into the air, are a good 6 feet tall and the trunk was at least 3 feet in diameter when it fell. The part that fascinates me is that one of the branches started growing out of the side of the tree and became the trunk. Slowly, the original trunk rotted away and this new branch kept growing higher until it became the main part of the tree. It has grown just as thick as the original trunk with branches thick with acorns and a home for Florida’s ubiquitous bromeliads.

I’m not sure what it is that fascinates me so much about this tree. Maybe it’s because the roots jut out so glaringly. After what must have been many years, it still looks raw and painful and out of place. The remnants of what used to be the very top of the tree come to an abrupt stop and continue to disintegrate. I can almost imagine what it must have sounded like when it fell — maybe in a strong storm or even hurricane — the cracking, crashing and breaking followed by silence. Then over the span of years as the forest continued to swirl around it, life found a way.

Perhaps it’s this season of my life that draws me to this tree. The dreams and enthusiasm of youth and newness have faded. While I feel some nostalgia for the past, there’s no longing to return to that stage. I’m more confident and certain of what’s important than ever. And I cherish the gifts the years have brought — a strong marriage, children who are growing into amazing people, experience and expertise to be good at the job I do.

But behind that are uprooted hopes and unexpected twists and turns in the circumstances of life. There have been failures and loss and pain that felt uprooting and at times and still feel like raw wounds at times. There may be things that I never get to do or dreams that don’t get realized. There are disappointments that still linger like that rotting stub and ways my weaknesses have been exposed like those tall roots, shocked to find themselves exposed to air rather than the dark, safe soil they are accustomed to.

Recently, I was once driving my daughter somewhere when she piped up from the back seat and asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. “A ballerina or an astronaut,” I replied.

“But you didn’t get to be those things,” she casually commented. Yes, there are a lot of things I dreamed that I didn’t get to be and I felt it at that moment with a pang.

“But you did get to be a great mom!”she added. There are also a lot of things I have received that I didn’t expect and joys that I didn’t dream of but were given anyway. My growth has been in a new direction, even after old things didn’t work out.

I think that tree reminds me that even if I don’t get to be and do all the things I long for or God changes directions on me abruptly or takes things away that I love, life finds a way. God finds a way to fill those longings with good gifts. Over time, new purposes and directions yield growth and fruit. The Father helps our spirits find a way.