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What the Tree Said

  My roots nurse... at the God-filled earth.

  My trunk stands... on the God-graced land.

  My branches sway... all the God-blessed day.

  My leaves spin... in the God-breathed wind.

  My roots creep... through the God-wrought deep.

  My trunk remains... on the God-loved plains.

  My branches dance... at each God-given chance.

  My leaves shine bright... in the God-scattered light.

  My bark keeps me warm... in the God-thrown storm.

  My leaves’ work is done... in the God-raptured sun.

  My twigs look nice... cased in God-hardened ice.

  My sap runs strong... like a God-measured song.

  My roots dig down... through the God-forged ground.

  My thirst I slake... at the God-granted lake.

  My life goes on... each God-promising dawn.

  My branches extend... towards God my friend.

  I rustle my pleas... to the God-bearing breeze.

  I am cleansed of pain... by the God-made rain.

  I release my prayers... in the God-whispered air.

  I stand ever loyal... in the God-shaped soil.

  After that, the tree began repeating the same or similar verses over again, slowly, deliberately, with a respectful rhythm. Maybe tomorrow it would add a new verse. But trees are known more for constancy than creativity. They’re very grounded.

  Luke was quite impressed with the good fortune that, the first time he had ever even heard a tree talk, it was kind of talking tree-poetry. (He couldn’t have known, but that’s just the way trees always talk! Never a sentence that doesn’t carry God’s name, either--what else is worth saying? they figure.49) Luke listened and enjoyed it for nearly an hour. The more he listened, the more he started to feel like the tree felt--which brought peace, but also made it hard for him to get around to leaving! Eventually, fearing lest he put down roots of his own, Luke got up, hugged the tree, and went on. He was glad to have had a chance to learn from the tree, but didn’t know what exactly he could have said back to it. How does one make conversation with a tree? ‘Read any good books lately?’ would hardly be a good opener! Better not to interrupt, Luke decided.

  He felt happy and peaceful as he walked on.

  But by dusk Luke’s feet were starting to hurt from so much walkin’, which put him in not as great a mood. Then to top it all off, in the dimming light he stepped into a rabbit hole and kind of twisted his ankle. It hurt kinda bad. There was a lot of cussin’ and swearin’.

  “Hey,” thought Luke. “I just realized something. I don’t swear.” He wondered who had been doing it then, and he looked into the rabbit hole. There was a little old person, about a foot tall with a beard, lying in the rabbit hole, looking somewhat squashed. Luke helped the little person out of the hole, and apologized: “Oops, sorry about that, little fella.”

  “Who said I was a fella?” the little person with the little beard said aggressively.

  “Oops, sorry ma’am?” Luke corrected himself.

  “I didn’t say I was a ma’am, either. I ain’t sayin’ one way or the other. I keep my personal life to myself. You got a problem with that?”

  Luke shrugged and said he thought that was fair, but he had to ask, “So what should I call you then?”

  “The name’s Gynander. Gynander the Gnome. You can call me Ginny... or Andy... But I won’t tell you which!”

  Luke stooped down to shake hands. After being trodden upon, the Gnome was reluctant, but relented, and Luke said, “I am Luke the Hun.”

  “We don’t see too many Huns out this way,” Gynander noted. “Is this an invasion or something?”

  Luke flinched at the hard-to-live-down warrior stereotype, but he answered matter-of-factly, as he gestured at the wide open spaces, “Think about it. This is the prairie. What is there to invade?”

  “Good point,” Gynander agreed; then reconsidering and deciding Luke’s tone of voice was not very respectful, the Gnome added: “Hey, don’t be knockin’ my homeland, you rascal.”

  “Speaking of homelands, what are you doin’ out here, livin’ in a prairie-dog hole in the prairie? Don’t Gnomes usually live in caves in the mountains, or trees in the forest, or something?” Luke interrogated, trying half-heartedly to do some stereotyping of his own.

  Gynander smiled proudly, and boasted, “I reckon I’m a pioneer. The very first Gnome Cowboy! Or Cowgirl, as the case may be.” The Gnome rustled up a cowboy hat from down in the hole, and struck a pose.

  “Way to go,” Luke encouraged. “But say, don’t you need to ride a horse to be a cowpoke?”

  The Gnome shrugged. “I had a nice white one, but it left. I was too small to mount it very easily anyway, so maybe it’s better that we went our separate ways. Anyway, if you’re gonna get technical like that, I prob’ly need some cows, too! But one thing at a time, y’know. I’ve got the hat, and that’s a start.”

  Luke agreed that yes, it was, and he told the Gnome that he liked its laid-back, not too hasty approach to living. Gynander thanked Luke and told him, “Hey that’s the first lesson you learn when you’re old and wise and you live on the prairie.” Luke asked what other neato lessons Gynander could share with him, and Gynander pointed out, “When lookin’ for a rabbit hole to hang out in, try to find one without a rabbit! They may not look so tough, but they can put up a heck of a fight when you’re only a foot tall.”

  “But I don’t suppose you have any crafty insights into what life is actually all about?” Luke asked hopefully.

  Gynander smirked. “If I did, would I be where I am?”

  Luke was more direct: “My friends have told me about God. Do you know anything about him? I don’t suppose you know where I should look if I want to find him?”

  Gynander thought about it, and at long last spoke these not-altogether-original words of wisdom: “Go West, young man.”

  “Is God in the West?” Luke wondered, responding with a quotable remark of his own.

  “I don’t know, son. You may not find what you’re looking for, but you’ll probably find something. The West is a wild place. But strangely enough, you can think clearly there--I think it has something to do with the pure air: it cleans your mind and scrubs your soul. Maybe that’ll help you figure out what you need to do.”

  Luke thought the prescription was a little vague, but he didn’t have any better ideas, so he decided to go west.

  Before he left, Gynander talked him into playing a few cowboy songs together, Luke with his ace guitar, and Gynander on his/her Gnome-sized banjo. Then Gynander told him to “Get along little dogie,” and away Luke went, under gray clouds without rain, somewhere on the lone prairie. Gynander looked around in all directions, surveyed the situation, and wisely decided to retrench and take a nap.

  Somewhere just west of the lone prair-ee, a white horse with no name came up behind Luke, and nudged him to silently offer a lift. Luke was thankful for the help. It made the journey go a lot faster. “Thanks Horse. I love you,” Luke told it tiredly, as he fell asleep hugging it. It carried him through the night and into a bright tomorrow.