SMALL THINGS

 4093

Pt. 1

I have often mused how absolutely beautiful and intricate small things are, and how they "speak to" the glory of the Creator; as well as anything else our Lord ever made.

Granted, there are some pretty amazing mountains, lakes and rivers, and the Aurora Borealis isn't anything "to sneeze at."

But, as I have previously inferred, I have been just as "taken up" with the small things which have been set in my proverbial pathway.

I have previously written about the prettiest little tree which I have ever seen in the course of my seven plus decades on this planet. 

You couldn't miss it. It was the only tree in the middle, (well, actually near the front), of a large pasture. A pretty little Oak tree, perfectly shaped, and perhaps fifteen feet in height. 

I often admired that tree as I drove down Spirit Lake Road on my way to one or the other of a couple of nearby cities. However, each time I passed that tree, it was increasingly obscured by what might be referred to as a parasitic infection. 

You see, here in Florida, and in other southern states we have something called Spanish Moss. Normally, Spanish Moss is a rather benign "infection," as most trees tolerate it well, and it never absolutely takes over their boughs and branches. Cedar and Cypress trees are exceptions to the rule, and sometimes succumb to Spanish Moss; (but certainly not Oak trees).

However, "my" little Oak tree was, apparently, a lone exception to the rule governing this particular species of trees. I realized that this precious little tree was "on the way out," unless something substantial was done right way.

Pt. 2

There was a sign in this pasture which made all passersby aware that this pasture was scheduled to become the future home of "Heritage Baptist Church." And since I had learned to love this little Oak tree, and virtually personified it by now, I made a decision to call the church, and speak to the pastor.

"Pastor Lyman, this is Dr. Bill McDonald. You know that little Oak tree in the pasture where your church intends to build?"

Of course, he did.

"Well, it is covered up with moss, and it will die, unless someone does something to ease its pain." (No, I didn't utter those last four words). But, I expressed sufficient concern with sufficient feeling that the pastor gave me permission to attempt to de-moss the little Oak tree.

"Just don't climb any ladders. Whatever you do, you will have to do from the ground."

I acquiesced, (though I thought it would be a "long shot" without using a ladder in order to clean the upper canopy.

And on such and such a day, (it was a Saturday), I loaded an extendable pole in my car which was designed for just such a task. You see, it had a claw on one end. I also packed a couple of five gallon buckets. The one crucial thing I failed to pack was... water; (and a little common sense).

Pt. 3

Driving the two miles which separated me from my quest, I pulled off the road, retrieved my supplies, tossed them over the barbed wire fence, made my way in between the second and third strands of barbed wire, picked up my extendable claw and buckets, walked up to the beautiful little Oak tree, and set to work.

Did I mention it was a hot summer day? (Well, it was). And for every bucket of moss I managed to claw out of that tree, it seemed I sweated a bucket of perspiration. I was quickly becoming dehydrated. Setting my claw and buckets aside, I retraced my steps to the barbed wire fence, climbed through it again, and walked the thirty steps which separated me from a nearby 7-11. Can we say, "Big Gulp Fountain Drink?" Can we say, "Water is 'where it's at' when you want to avoid dehydration?"

Retracing my steps a final time, I worked another twenty minutes, and felt like I was about to die. I had to stop. I had rid the tree of a quarter, perhaps a third of its parasitic moss. Would it be enough? (I doubted it).

Leaving the tree "to its own devices" and with a "I did the best I could for you, little one" (and) "It's up to you now," I headed to my car, and the shade and coolness of my living room. I was absolutely "whooped." Arriving home, I walked in the front door, croaked out a "I feel like I'm about to pass out" to my wife, and dropped down on the living room sofa. I was just about as close to a heat stroke as I had ever been.

And yet. And yet for all my efforts... the little Oak tree died. 

Not immediately. Perhaps my futile attempt to de-moss the lower limbs afforded the wonderful little tree a little more time. 

It was personally hurtful for me to watch it die, as the Spanish Moss renewed itself, and more, and, ultimately, caused the little Oak tree to be unrecognizable for the wealth of that parasitic gray growth.

A few years later, I began to pedal a bicycle down the street which passes the little Oak tree. I'm a night owl, and the pedaling I do, I do in the wee hours of the morning. 

And as I near the little Oak tree, well, it's just a shell of itself; literally a shell of itself. Those bare skeletonized limbs stretch starkly against the sky; a full moon in the background. And I feel something moist roll down my cheek. I had invested so much to save that tree. I mean, I could have died under the boughs of that little tree.

Pt. 4

Small things. 

I have often mused how absolutely beautiful and intricate small things are, and how they "speak to" the glory of the Creator; as well as anything else our Lord ever made.

I remember a visit to West Virginia a couple of years ago. My wife and I flew there to see my two daughters, and rented a lovely little cabin at a state park near the quaint little town of Pineville.

I can tell you, I'm always "up" for snow; (as long as it remains manageable, and my vehicle remains on all four wheels, and not upside down in the valley beneath the roadway)!

And not to be disappointed, we experienced a late March snow. Waking up the morning after we arrived, we looked out the window, and the evergreen trees were absolutely covered with the white stuff. 

And some random flakes were still falling. And something occurred to me. 

I focused on one flake and watched it fall from a height of, well, as far "up" as I could see, until it found its lazy way to the ground. Such a lovely little snowflake drifting to and fro, left and right; fluffy as a feather.

And I imagined, (I could only imagine), what that amazing little snowflake looked like when viewed through a microscope. After all, God affords EACH individual snowflake its own unique pattern which hardly anyone, (except the Almighty) will ever see... 'til it unceremoniously melts away on the forest floor.

And I vowed to remember that singular little snowflake which I had watched drift from the heights, 'til it added its minute mass to a million million other snowflakes, and which would soon melt away in the warmth of the new day. 

Afterward

A lone little Oak tree. A tiny white snowflake. One animate. One inanimate. Each created by our Heavenly Father. Each afforded an all too brief lifespan of His own choosing. Both silent, but exalting God like only they could in spite of their seeming silence. 

Small things

by William McDonald, PhD