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Recalled to Life

By Roger E. Bruner

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That little blue jacaranda tree was the finest wedding present two elderly people like Claude and me could have given each other. We thought of it as the baby we were far too old to have.

Now I couldn’t look at it without having to fight back tearful memories of that horrible night three years earlier when Hurricane Natalie’s winds propelled something forcefully—almost explosively—against the side of the house. Both of us awoke with a start.

Claude put his hand on mine. “Don’t go outside, Ruth. The hurricane will be gone by morning. We’ll check for damage then.”

Although we stayed inside, I don’t believe either of us got much sleep after that. Instead we lay there listening. Listening and wondering. Would the hurricane do any further damage to the house before heading further north?

With the first light of dawn came the welcome sound of silence. Hurricane Natalie had moved on, eager to do her damage elsewhere.

But what damage had she done here? That was the question that concerned us.
After throwing a robe on—I didn’t take time to look for my slippers—I ran to the living room. Claude was right behind me. I opened the front door and stepped outside.

Squishing our way through mud and wet grass, we moved cautiously to our bedroom’s side of the house and began looking for the place Natalie had targeted just hours earlier.

“There.” Claude pointed to a good-sized hole in the siding. The exposed woodwork was slightly cracked. “What hit it?”

I spotted the projectile before he did and burst out crying. In between sobs I finally managed to say, “Our tree. Our beautiful little jacaranda tree. Natalie broke it in two. She threw part of it at the house.”

I turned my gaze from the five feet of treetop that lay crumpled on the ground in front of me to the three or four feet of stump Natalie had graciously left in the ground. As if we would need a lasting reminder of our loss.

Claude wrapped his arms around me. “Maybe Ronnie can cut that stump down close to ground level. I don’t know if he can get the roots up, though. I’ll call and have the nursery bring another tree.”

His sigh grazed my cheek. “We were so looking forward to that tree blossoming once it matured enough.”

I didn’t respond at first. I just kept staring at the stump. But then I turned to face my loving husband. “This may sound strange, but I’d rather have Ronnie make a clean cut just below the break and leave the roots intact.”

He shook his head. Playfully, I thought. “You are something else, Love. You think that sounds strange, do you? I’d say it sounds, uh…”

He obviously wanted to use a stronger word. Odd, maybe? Peculiar? Maybe even bizarre?

“Why in the world would you want Ronnie to do that?”

I scrunched my face while trying to come up with a reasonable explanation. “I just do” probably wouldn’t convince him, but I had to be honest...and I couldn’t think of anything better to say.

“I…I can’t tell you. I don’t know why, I mean. I just want him to.” I paused. “Well, not exactly want. For whatever reason my subconscious is hiding from me, I think keeping what’s left of our jacaranda tree is important. Haven’t you ever felt that way about something that didn’t make sense?”

It was Claude’s turn to scrunch his face. “When God gave me those two weird, theologically unacceptable dreams and then had me turn them into the two bestselling books that made us so wealthy, that didn’t make one bit of sense. I just knew I was supposed to do it.”

I looked into his eyes and smiled. “You do understand then, don’t you?”

He laughed. “Of course I do. But the important thing isn’t whether I understand your reason for keeping the stump—or your lack of one—but the fact that I want to please my precious wife.”

I pecked him on the cheek. Would he be that agreeable to my next request? “Sweetie, would you mind if we don’t get another jacaranda?”

~*~

Several days later we had the nursery where we’d bought the jacaranda send workers out to plant a crepe myrtle in our treeless front yard. Although the men couldn’t help but notice the clean-cut jacaranda stump at the side of the house, they didn’t ask why we’d left it there.

But I couldn’t look at it without asking, “Why, Lord?”

I knew God must have had a reason. And any reason He had would be good. Perfect. Even though He hadn’t chosen to reveal it to me.

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