A lesson in life from the birch tree…

I spent nearly all day at my desk writing a funeral service; hour upon hour steeped in memories that aren’t mine.

I spent my day holding the grief of a family in my hands and in my heart as I struggled to find the words to do justice to 94 years of living.

I spent my day feeling the weight of life and of death.

I am…spent.

But my little Rosie still needs some evening playtime so we’ve just come back inside from a fast-paced game of fetch.

A mindful moment…

It rained earlier. It thundered and for a few minutes the sky opened and poured down big, plopping raindrops. And now…well now it smells the way it smells after a rain. It smells fresh and clean and earthy.

The air is cool and soft and it flowed into me easily. There was something new in the air, a sweet familiar scent and it only took me a moment to find its source. A small May Day tree is blooming; the clusters of tiny white blossoms are fragrant in a way that is out of proportion to their size. I leaned into the tree and inhaled deeply, pulling that beautiful scent into myself, letting its perfume refresh me and chase away the heaviness of the past hours. I love that smell and savoured it because the blossoms only last a very short while before the petals drift to the ground whitening the grass below the tree like snowflakes out of season.

The usual cast of birds were singing except from across the road I could hear a new song, a different song. These birds aren’t difficult to spot. A pair of Pileated woodpeckers chased each other up and around the top of an old aspen.

Rosie dropped the ball at my feet and waited expectantly for the treat she knew I held. I tossed it to her and she snatched it out of the air. As quick as that she was running again for the property line to catch the ball I hadn’t even thrown, but I did because I hated to disappoint her.

An expressive tree…

In my line of vision was a birch that I bought as a gift for My Sweet for some special years past. For many years it grew, tall and elegant with its graceful branches. But two winters in a row we had days of unseasonably early heavy wet snow that weighed the slender branches down, coating them in ice. The tallest center trunk cracked and broke under the weight of the snow. Even though I tried to shake the snow off of it, the damage was done and now it is more of a birch bush than a tree.

If the destructive force of the early winter storms weren’t enough, each spring brings back at least one mated pair of Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers who produce several offspring. They persistently drill concentric rings of holes through the delicate, paper-like bark to release the sap beneath. When the holes fill with sap, insects are trapped in the stickiness and the birds return to feast. The constant weeping of sap is hard on the tree and it struggles on to feed the branches and leaves at the highest parts of itself. The sap also attracts scores of wasps and hornets in the heat of summer that feed greedily on the sap and eat away strips of bark.

And yet, that beautiful tree survives.

It continues to send out new shoots at the tips of the branches each spring. The limbs eventually bud and tiny, pointed yellow-green leaves emerge. They grow, filling out and making the tree look more and more lush. The spring breezes move through the branches of the birch making them sway and swish.

That little birch tree is unbelievably resilient. It persists. It chases after life, running through a marathon of seasons only to pass the starting line once more when spring comes again.

A living metaphor…

It reminds me very much of many of the stories I am entrusted with; stories, lives, of determination and persistence and resilience. They are the stories of people who struggled against adversity, winning some battles and losing others.

Our tree is a living metaphor; a masterpiece of encouragement from the Creator that life for all living things can be filled with challenge, but also filled with grace and joy. It is a reminder that storms may come…will come…and the storms will pass, but they will change us in their passing. It is a reminder that we will have seasons of renewal, of growth, of change, and of rest.

Through the open window I can hear the sweet whistling song of a Phoebe as he sits in the tree. And just as in life as it is now for our tree, joy comes again, songs of hope are sung again, and I am – we are – strengthened to carry on.

With gratitude for both the tree and the lesson…love and light to you all…