My childhood home sat nestled on a large green lawn that harbored a forest of trees. Maple, oak, persimmon, pine, holly, willow, pecan. Great, towering, ancient trees, and spindly, newly-planted saplings. Fruit trees and flowering trees. Trees to shade picnics and trees to anchor lofty forts.
One of the trees was Mine. I don't remember now if my mom or dad told me the story, or if one of my siblings made it up, or if it was all a creation of my own fertile imagination - BUT - as I understood it, Mom planted a tree for each of us children when we were small. Now of course, there is not much a child can do with a tree, especially a young whip of a tree, but I thought it was hugely significant that one of the trees surrounding our home was connected to me. That for long years to come, barring a lightning strike or an unfortuitous wind, My tree would be standing alongside my childhood home, bearing testimony to the little girl who had once romped about the lawn.
Yesterday, we planted a new tree on our hill in the middle of the hay field. A cedar - because it's Christmastime and because a cedar is symbolic of healing and protection and of Christ and of the eternal life that is ours in Him. An evergreen...a tree for remembering.
3 weeks ago