The Naked Tree

We lost our peach tree to the giant wind storm in August. The main branch snapped in half. We decided to ignore it for a few months. The birds and the wasps were in heaven. Greg commented that our neighborhood had the fattest, happiest birds in town. A couple weeks ago, Greg trimmed the tree and this is what was left. The naked tree. It just looks so exposed and vulnerable. I am tempted to put a coat on it, perhaps a scarf and mittens just to protect it from the elements.

The harsh reality is that I can't always protect the things I love. It leaves me feeling like our little tree: exposed and vulnerable.

Greg and I have all these little kids. I find it interesting that they spend the majority of their time trying to be "grown up." They beg for a later bedtime, protest taking a nap, salivate at the thought of earning money, desperately want to walk to a friend's house "by myself" or use a public restroom without any assistance. Macy constantly begs me for "just a little make-up," and my girls raid my closet to wear my clothes and shoes at least twice a week. Paige asks me daily, "Am I big?" And the answer has to be "Yes" or she adamantly protests. Austin eagerly talks about the days when he can drive, and even my babies seem to want to do everything their siblings do. Greg and I are constantly telling them to slow down! When I check on my kids before I go to bed, I find myself running my fingers through their hair and begging them...pleading with them...to just enjoy being a kid. I whisper in their ears while they sleep contently, "Just relax. Don't be in such a rush to grow up." Being an adult is tough. The problems and trials are so much harder than they were ten or fifteen years ago. Reality is not an easy pill to swallow. People can be so cruel; life can be so harsh. Sometimes, I long to crawl into bed with my sleeping babes and just go back to that time of innocence.

When I looked at my tree this morning, I saw something interesting: a little leaf, right on the very top, still green - still clinging to life. Every November, I watch the world around me drain of color. Everything seems desolate, lifeless, and incredibly brown. But every Spring, the world rejuvenates and the tulips, blossoms, and green grass provide hope again. I guess we just have to hold on and have faith that peace, joy, happiness, and color will come back after the dark, barren times.

I believe that they will.