The Layers

Like trees that fall in the forest, when we break we bow in different directions. If our foundation is firm it won’t change, only the direction in which we go after the fall changes. Where we land after the fall will look different then where we stood before, yet, we are still part of the same forest (imagining ourselves as trees) reaching and stretching into places we never never imagined ourselves being. Who we become as the result of the fall may reach beyond where we ever saw ourselves belonging.

I have been in love with the forest since I was a little girl. I have found comfort amongst the trees and the unique character each reveals with my millions of footsteps amid their company. A short walk is all one needs to see the breaks, the bows, the lightning strikes, the remains of what is left after a fall and the modifications and new growth that take place when one becomes broken. When I walk through the woods and see the bent, broken and fallen branches, I see the adversities we face as people and how they change who we once were. We are still standing, but our brokenness is often littered around us.

It is said our character is created when we face adversity. I disagree, I believe our character is revealed in these moments. Who we truly are is revealed when we are stripped of the outer layers and exposed as bare, vulnerable souls. This happens over time from age and exposure, which are almost synonymous in this context, to trees and humans alike. Fill in the blank on what exposure means. Aging means we have been here longer, which correlates to more opportunity to be exposed to anything and everything. Of the trees I see character in many forms; bark chipped away by critters or broken off from weathering, holes drilled by hungry beaks, branches broken or split, felled on the tree closest or on the ground nearby, vines and fungi climbing in all directions and some with water exposure creating a smooth and sometimes colorful texture.

A friend once told me I had character. Knowing he was referring to my journey and the way I have responded to the challenges life has delivered, it was a compliment in the highest. One of my favorite scriptures makes reference to character, Romans 5: 3-4, Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.

Our suffering is the key to our awakening.

Our suffering produces perseverance, our perseverance, character and our character, hope. I think of adversities as pieces of bark getting stripped away to reveal what is on the inside and who/what we are able to become because we persevered. Understanding and accepting this process is being grounded in hope - knowing we will survive and will be better equipped for what lies ahead. Awakening to this process encourages our own survival when the challenges come, as we only become stronger and more able to withstand the storms.

I was fortunate to live a short walk from the shores of Lake Michigan for a year. I walked almost daily, taking in the magnificence of the salt free great lake, whose ever changing ripples were no different than the ocean. Some days were calm, some days she roared like a lion. On occasion, during or after rough waters, entire trees or ginormous trunks would wash ashore.

You could tell the ones that had been drifting in the water for long periods of time. There was no bark, it had been worn off from the force of the water. They were fully exposed, the layers of what once was, completely stripped away. What remained was beautiful and inviting. The smooth textures were often colored an earthen gold. As a carpenter might spend hours sanding to find such perfection, the adversity of the water created beauty by force and exposure. One of my favorite finds was a tall, “Y” shaped trunk marbled in multi-tan hues with one almost white protrusion. Another was a large trunk whose character was still being created. In a single area, the bark was gone, revealing the soft, smooth inner beauty. Atop that spot, a chunk of thick bark held firm to strands of its frayed self not yet ready to let go. Character. Beautiful character, revealed when the outer layers are stripped away.

I recently re-connected with a childhood friend. Kristi and I have known each other since we were little girls in middle school. We have been sharing the joys, sorrows and trials of our lives. We have both lost a child and can identify with each others journey in a deep sense. I have spent hours in the woods, she has been afraid to walk there alone. I was at her house when she suggested we go for a walk in a nearby park with miles of hiking trails. She had told me how pretty it was, yet, hadn’t been comfortable to go alone for awhile. We had been talking about the month of January’s emotional effect on us. My son’s birthday was the 20th and her daughters angel date (date of death) was Jan 31st. Our walk was smack in the middle of these dates.

We arrived to the park dressed for the winter hike and set out into the woods. We saw two people enter an adjacent trail the same time we did, but no one else. We walked for awhile talking about life and our angel children. We encountered a woman and her dog who were out of sight just as quickly as they came into it. As we rounded a corner there was a short, straight path before it curved again to the right. My eye caught an indentation in the snow that looked like a tiny snow angel. Kristi was a couple steps behind me. I turned around and suggested we make snow angels right there. Her eyes lit up as she exclaimed that she had wanted to make a snow angel this winter and hadn’t yet AND just walked past the word “MOM” written in the snow. What?!! It was a few feet behind us. I missed it as we went by. It seemed she saw “MOM” at the same moment I saw the little snow angel.

We hugged and cried and prayed together before plopping into the untouched snowbank to make angels in honor of our angels. Our tears turned to laughter as we contemplated how to stand up without ruining the angels (this would have been a non-issue twenty years ago). There were no footprints near the “MOM” in the snowbank. There were no other words or markings of any kind, just “MOM”. We could only reason it was written for us, as a reminder that our angels were present. We thanked each other for being there to share in that moment.

Life strips away the layers, revealing our character, inviting us to shine the light on what lies deep inside where the sweet and raw of who we are becoming has been lying in wait.
The walk in the woods with Kristi fanned the flame to the sweet and raw of who we became from the loss of our children. The standing and broken pieces of the trees around us was a literal reminder that despite our brokenness, we can remain strong, even while our raw selves are exposed.

Like the trees who stand in visible war zones, life can get us to feeling like we are the walking dead: beaten, battered and worn from all we have endured. Yet, when the layers are peeled away, there is beauty in our survival. Through the eyes of wisdom and faith, I have come to see what God has done in me and through me, not to me. The trunks washed by the water over and over had me staring in awe as I examined the depth of what had been done in and through them. No human hand can replicate what God made from them. One only needs to peel back the layers to see.

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, and lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear a nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. - Joyce Kilmer