Fallen trees and broken limbs littered the yards of homes on a rural stretch of highway. 

An older man and woman were standing in one of the yards, the man with his arms crossed, as he turned his head to look at the branches of an oak tree that, not an hour or two earlier, had been reaching to the heavens. The woman, her long gray hair pulled into a ponytail, held her arms in front of her as she took a photograph or a video with her phone. 

The tree had snapped in half about five feet above the ground, its woody fibers jagged, irregular, and broken. Strong roots didn’t matter; the wind had its way.

There is no photograph to mark the day my family’s pecan tree fell, but I remember hearing my mother’s loud wail from where my sister and I stood at the front kitchen window. She and my father were inside the garage with the door raised, watching the scene unfold. I wanted to be out there with them, but I was forbidden from being too close to the weather.

There was no real warning, only a dark cloud, the heavy rain, and a strong wind. Trees topple like toothpicks in the power of a great wind, especially when the ground is as soggy as a soured kitchen sponge.

The pecan tree fell over as if thumped by a flick of God’s fingers, its shallow roots exposing a fatal weakness as the tall branches crashed onto the ground. 

No longer would our herd of Holstein heifers gather beneath its summertime shade. Neither would we harvest any more pecans for pies, fudge, cookies, and cakes. My grandfather was an expert in cracking two pecans nestled against each other with his bare hands. We would carefully pick the shells off in the yard and enjoy the full halves of the meat.

Two other pecan trees were planted, but both died before they reached full maturity. My family has never had another pecan tree, and several other trees have also been victim to storms. The latest wind of the weekend storms took down one of their apple trees.

That’s just the nature of life. Nothing on this earth will last forever, even the giant sequoias, the oldest estimated to be more than 3,500 years old.

But the wisdom of Scripture provides hope, and the beautiful imagery used is that of a tree:

“The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life, and he that winneth souls is wise.”

Proverbs 11:30

If your life were a tree, what would you be? How would you grow? I am reminded of Washington Irving’s story “The Devil and Tom Walker,” in which the names of individuals are branded onto the trunks of trees. “Old Scratch” is harvesting some of those trees, with implications of eternal damnation, but Tom makes his deal with the Devil anyway.

Irving’s entertaining stories were full of folklore and superstition, but it won’t be “Old Scratch” who ultimately judges us. Was Irving thinking of John the Baptist’s condemnation against the Pharisees and the Sadducees when he wrote that story?

“The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

Matthew 3:10

Rather, we need to pattern our lives after the description in Psalm 1:

“Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the LORD, and who meditates on his law day and night. That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither–whatever they do prospers.”

Psalm 1:1-3

Your soul will not only be safe with the Lord, but you will also provide the fruit of a righteous life and the shade of comfort to others.

On that day when your earthly life ends, you can have confidence that in your eternal home there are no fallen trees, broken limbs, strong winds, or axes. 

And while I’m looking forward to enjoying the real Tree of Life someday, I do hope that there is a grove of pecan trees in a corner of Heaven, where Granddaddies and Pawpaws crack two at a time, fishing out entire halves, leaving the shells behind for an angel cleanup crew.