The Ancient Oak that Needs Healing

Introducing, Welcome to my World, a blog challenge created by author Shirley Corder.

Once a week, Shirley will ask participants to write on a particular question that she will provide or a topic of their choice.

This is a splendid opportunity to get acquainted…and perhaps open our minds to alternative possibilities, so I hope you’ll share your thoughts in the comments.

This week’s question is: What do you see as you look out your window today?

I’ve title mine:

Deep Sighs Taken

My office window faces the perennial garden. It’s a lovely distraction of mature flora where cottontails emerge to nibble on the grasses, and nature’s winged creatures flutter. But it’s the ancient oak tree in the center of the garden that I’m most focused on these days.

I am writing a memoir that in part mentions its grandeur. The oak has been home to thousands of birds, a conversation piece, and a hideaway for a treehouse. I had found shelter beneath its expansive canopy while living with my husband and our two young sons in a fifth wheel. We housed our first flock of chicks under the shadow of oak leaves.

Now, years later, the tree appears strong and healthy. But borers have attacked it.

Deep sigh.

Have you ever sat in a beloved tree? Leaned against its trunk with a delightful book, picnicked with family beneath shaded limbs, or shed tears behind its receiving girth? If so, you know its value.

Trees teach us a great deal about growth, observing, purpose, and determination, delightful flavors of fresh-picked food, construction, design, safety, care, and wisdom. (You can read the latter in Proverbs 3:18.)

Genesis 2:9 says trees are “pleasing to the eye.”

Indeed, the majestic oak outside my office window is picturesque. But it’s more than that. It’s nature’s habitat, a symbol of the past, of present-day spiritual nourishment, and the future.

I can’t imagine glancing outside and not seeing the ancient oak. I pray a tree surgeon can heal it. That the oak will remain for many years, long after I publish my memoir.