Over the past several years, this tree has grown from a spindly random sprout into a giant, towering over my home. Countless hours have been spent in its shade, semi-secluded from neighbors, thinking, writing, reading, laughing, praying, crying, eating, wondering.
A few springs ago, I woke to a freak May snowstorm that had dumped a foot of heavy wet snow over everything newly green. My dear tree, my shelter from life's storms, had split down the middle.
A tree-fixer person gave me a plan to save it, which a friend executed. This tree has done much for me over the past several years as I've been learning to live alone. I will do much for it in return, to help it survive its own battles with whatever would threaten its existence.
.
This afternoon, I got out my saw and removed chunks of the 18-year-old bench that had been installed a decade before this tree even dreamed of sprouting. Two other times I'd taken a sliver out of the bench, but recent growth had the tree beginning to dislodge the planks. As my saw bit through the final inch of lumber,
I swear I heard the tree sigh in relief.
My tree taught me that sometimes things need to be cut away, in order to give room to grow.
What in your life is squeezing too tightly?
