Circle the Wagons

Time to circle the wagons. In pioneer days, the wagon trains would circle their wagons to form a defensive boundary around their base camp. Children would be allowed to play inside in safety. No matter what direction an attack came from the barrier would protect them.

Ever play "Red Rover?" A game where your team members clasp arms and yell, "Red Rover, Red Rover send Becky right over," and Becky then runs over and tries to decide the weakest link to break through your teams' arms. A weak player is strengthened by their bond to a strong one.

Circling the wagons provides the same type of protection. The team forming what they hope will be a protective perimeter to keep threats away from their precious ones inside: their children. You can not circle the wagons with one wagon. You can not circle the wagons with two wagons and maybe not even three. You need a team, a wagon train.

The wagon train is like a fellowship. A community that comes together to journey down the same path, caravanning together toward the same destination. When there is a threat, they circle the wagons to help protect each other from an attack. We live in a time of spiritual attack, we need to join with other believers and circle the wagons.

It's Just a Tree

We were lucky, we only lost a few trees during the storms last week and having 77 acres we have lots of trees to spare. Many people lost a lot more, entire houses completely destroyed. Although even they were lucky enough to escape with their lives. I am really glad all we lost were a few trees but I am sad about the loss of one tree in particular.

When my husband died in 2002, his family planted a tree in our front yard. An ash tree that grew in that spot for three years. When we decided move to a new home we told ourselves, "It's just a tree," but when the person who bought our house said she was going to cut it down we were very sad. We asked if they could remove it in a way that we could move it and replant it. Since it was only three years old at the time with care there was a chance it could survive the move. In order for it to survive, the tree removal service was asked to cut out around its root ball which is usually the same size underground as the tree growth above the ground. They agreed to try to save the rootball and were to call us and let us know when they would be removing the tree so we could pick it up. We planned to wrap it in burlap to keep the soil around the roots damp.

The day they called it was over 100 degrees. They called us at 3:30pm to let us know the tree had been cut down that morning around 8 o'clock in the morning. Cut in the cool but left sitting out in the heat with no water and very little of the root ball in tact and no original dirt left on the roots, discouraged we piled it into the back of the truck and hauled it about thirty miles. In the sweltering heat we dug a few holes trying to find a place bury this whithering tree.

As I watched the last leaf fall from its branches a few weeks later, I tried to convince myself, "It's just a tree." I reminded myself it was not my husband, if the tree survived I would still be living life without him but watching this tree die was very emotional. It reminded me of the last months and the last hours watching my husband's life fade away. The first summer we lived at the new house I avoided spending two much time dwelling on the stick that stuck out of the ground without a single leaf on it. However, I followed the advice of a friend and kept watering it but had no expectations of it coming back. Either it would or it wouldn't and either way, it won't change the fact that my husband died and this stick was just a dying tree.

I managed to ignore the stick in the ground all winter. In the spring, even when the other trees all around it were budding and growing thick shawls of green the stick that stuck in the ground without a bud on never bothered me. To me, "It was just a tree." It was just a tree until the day I noticed something on it's branch, what was that I wondered, "A bud?" It was a bud. The tree was budding, it survived. Within a few weeks it was more than a stick, it was a tree with green leaves on it. Within a few weeks it was more than a tree, it was the center of a wonderful memorial garden for my husband.

For the last three years, the tree has bloomed with a larger and larger bouquet of green leaves. Although always the last tree to bud in the spring, sort of like my husband, always late. The tree has become the center of celebrating how much his life meant to us. Last Christmas the kids decorated the tree with special ornaments they bought for him, each with its special significance to one of his children. It has been filled with chimes they have collected in his memory. The tree is now the center of the prime memorial grounds for beloved pets buried in the garden. As special as the tree has become, when I heard the news that the storm had taken out the tree, I told myself, "It's just a tree." It is not like my husband was taken out by the storm, "It's just a tree."

The kids and I tried to detach our emotions for our beloved husband and father, from this tree. Although we were sad to hear and see the tree snapped in half about a foot off the ground, we knew in our hearts it wasn't another loss of a person but just a tree. With or without the tree, we still miss him. I think even my father-in-law was sad to hear about the tree. I think he was happy when he learned that the tree got moved to the new property and survived. There was something about that tree that touched everyones' hearts. He said we should check the tree and see if had grown any saplings around it.

So I quickly ran out to check,

and there around the base of the tree

was abundant new life.

After I told everyone at least twice about the saplings growing from the rootball of the tree, I realized, "It was more than tree." It was a tree that had touched my heart. Until my husband and I meet again, it is the little things, like this tree, that keep our hearts connected.

Within hours of finding the saplings, a new garden began to appear around the fallen tree.

These words from an Oakridge Boys song ring out, "You are always in our hearts, and often on our minds, we will never let that die, just as long as we're alive"