I arrived home and my oldest son stood in the middle of the road. He tried to hold it together, but as soon as I kneeled before him, his countenance changed and the tears flowed. I embraced him.
My son, the oldest and most respectable young man I know, was helpless to protect his family when the limbs fell.
We had a fairly major incident at the house. We have a giant water oak in our back yard. It is a nuisance, but it cost too much to have the entire thing removed. My wife and I have often wondered about the day when those big limbs finally decide to come down. Today was that day. Two giant limbs, larger than your average 50-year-old oak, fell, crashing into the outer phalanges of my shed. My oldest daughter, Kathryn was busy doing her morning routine, milking Reba in the shed, when the first limb crashed, taking out the back wall of the shed.
Kathryn, bewildered, stepped out into the open air and wondered at the giant spectacle. Graham screamed for her to run. The second limb cracked. She fled with Reba as the second limb fell, crushing the stable where she stood just seconds earlier. If she hadn’t moved, this would be a very different story. She fled toward the half-acre where our livestock roam and forage. The massive falling limbs sounded like an earthquake or a car crash. Mae Lynn called and texted but I was at work tending to unrelated matters. I finally called her back and I could hear the panic in her voice. “You need to come home now!”
She explained the situation.
“Are the kids OK? Is anyone hurt?”
Our kids love that old shed and spend so much time in it playing and creating worlds of their own.
I feared the most fearful of thoughts.
The kids all escaped, thank God. The limbs did their damage.
On the ride home, driving faster than I should, I thought of Job.
18 While he was yet speaking, there came another and said, “Your sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their oldest brother’s house, 19 and behold, a great wind came across the wilderness and struck the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young people, and they are dead, and I alone have escaped to tell you.”
20 Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. 21 And he said, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.”
What would I do if God chose to crush my children beneath the weight of that house?
Before parking my truck, I drove past the house and, with my mouth agape, assessed the damage.
I parked the truck and Graham stood, white as a sheet, waiting for me.
“Are you OK?”
His lips turned sullen. I took him into my arms and we both cried as I held him close to me. The clouds passed swiftly. The sky was open and free and the old oak stood silent as I walked past it.
“I curse you and the day you were born.”
I actually uttered those words. “Damn you, tree.” Perhaps in a bit of self-pity, I also damned myself for not acting on the cruel, passive fate of that tree that I knew would surely come. I cursed it and cursed myself for not taking on its tangled, weak branches, it’s lifeless corpse, hanging above our heads and waiting for the right gust and the right amount of water to weigh the old limbs down and finally force them to the ground.
It took me about 30 minutes to get home from work. When I arrived, my friends, too arrived.
Chainsaws buzzing, dragging limbs, making piles.
Everyone worked in concert. No one was hurt and the work was completed much faster than I would have expected.
The help was a good reminder that self-sufficiency is a lie.
No one can live life on their own. We need people. We need help and we need to be humble enough to accept help when needed. I’ve had so many friends and family members who are willing to pitch in. One friend plans to drop off a wood chipper later this week. Another said I could borrow a lift to reach some of the remaining limbs in the tree. Numerous friends are willing to help with reconstruction. Another said he is renting a log splitter soon and will drop it off as soon as he’s done with it.
When the chainsaws calmed their noisy clamor, we stood in a circle and pondered the work before us. The mockingbirds chirped, along with the blue jays and the Carolina wrens. “This, too, shall pass,” they told me. My pastor stopped by to give me a hug. My friends, in their silent resolve, did their work, ate a good lunch provided by a dear friend, and packed up their gear and left.
We should reflect on thankfulness. By my nature, I am a glass-half-empty kind of guy. However, this event showed me that life can change in an instant and we should be thankful for the grace God gives us in these moments.
Thank you to everyone who helped.
Well said, Adam. God Bless all of you. I love all of you.