Under an Elm Tree

Everyone has times in their lives that are trying and difficult. They come and they go. Sometimes, they endure for much longer than we would like. Our time is not always God's time.


When I was a little boy, our farm lane was lined with wonderful, straight, tall elm trees. Far above, they reached their crowns towards each other over the lane, and met in a majestic arch that shaded out the sun, and made the lane a cool oasis from the hot summer heat. There always seemed to be a gentle breeze blowing in their lofty foliage, and it made a soothing sound, which made them such a pleasure to walk through. Haying time was a fast paced race to get done, but we always slowed down coming through that long elm tree arch, and let their cool, natural air conditioning refresh us. Wild strawberries grew at their feet, and their sweetness would waft up to our noses, as the cool breezes danced around and caressed us. Those trees made an otherwise poor farm life better. There was something about them that you just couldn't put your finger on, but they made it seem like we were at the center of the world.


All good things must pass, and the start of the '80's brought an end to our arch of solice, and that was Dutch Elm Disease. Along with so many others, it struck our farm a particularly harsh blow, and, one by one, dead, and now dangerous, our mighty elms inevitably fell to the chain saw. Our monarch-worthy, fairy tale sun canopy was gone, and we missed it terribly.

That is, all but one.

One stood.

At the north corner of the second field, one of our beautiful elms remained in foliage. Against all odds, it shrugged off the Dutch Elm epidemic, and stood alone, somehow unaffected.


Across the gate from it stood the last of its dead brothers, ready to fall to the saw. Dad gave that tree to my aunt for firewood for that coming winter. That fall, her son in law came out to cut it down. I was working out in the barnyard. I am not sure anymore what I was doing, but I remember vividly what happened next. Barry had come and went up the lane to cut down the last dead elm. Immersed in my task, I absent mindedly heard the saw going, but didn't pay it much heed. Until, that is, that something didn't seem right. Something just didn't seem right to my young, sensitive ears. I looked up the lane, and, to my absolute horror, realised  he was cutting the wrong tree down! 

The car was nearby and I jumped into it and tore up the lane and skidded to a stop beside him and leaped out and yelled for him to stop cutting.

Because it was fall, the leaves were gone, and it didn't look much different than the other tree, and he mistook which one he should be cutting down.

To my sinking, sickened heart, he had almost cut the whole wedge out of the last living tree. Embarrassed, he said, "The wedge is almost cut through; it'll die now. I might as well cut it down".


I was only about 15 or 16, but when the need arose, I could assert myself, and I did at this time: "NO. Give it a chance. It survived this long. Cut the other one down, but leave this one alone".


Sometimes, all we need is to be given a chance; the benefit of the doubt. The odds may be completely against us, but, if the buffeting of life relents, we can regroup.


That last, lonely elm survived. Over time, the wedge cut healed, and it stood, straight, tall, proud, and defiant, against all the world had thrown at it during its lifetime.


Twenty years after its near disaster, the Lord spoke to me under that tree. My life had unravelled and fell apart, and my fiance' whom I was so madly in love with, virtually left me at the altar. The only thing left that seemed solid in my physical life was that elm tree, and I walked out to it and tearfully called on the Lord, and prayed earnestly to Him. Sobbing through my grief, I begged Him repeatedly to send her back to me.

He spoke to me then and there, under that elm tree, with the morning sun on my back, and the familiar old breezes courting the leaves far above, and said the absolute last thing I wanted to hear Him say: "She's not the one". He spoke it lovingly, and soothingly, but with His Heavenly, undeniable sovereignty.  He didn't say any more. He didn't have to. And, of course, He was right. The Lord is holy, above all, and not to be doubted. That was 13 years ago.

Time went on, years went by, and another girl who didn't mean it came and went. Once again I found myself on my knees before the Lord, but in a little more wisdom, and not begging Him to bring her back, but to "Send me a wife, Lord. Please, please, send me a wife".

The Lord spoke to me again in that moment. "I will".  Again, with all-encompassing love and reassurance. And, unmistakable, Almighty authority.

Years went by again, because God's time is not our time. And then, true as always to His Word, God fulfilled His promise to me.

Her name is Sharon, and she is the embodiment of God's faithful promise to me.

He first spoke to me of her under that elm tree.

She loves me wholeheartedly.
She is faithful to me.
She is my best friend.
She takes care of me.
She delights me.
She soothes me.
She pampers me. 
She completes me.

Her name is Sharon Marjorie I Will Bowes. 

When I think about her, I am reminded, "I will'. When I thank the Lord for her, I am reminded, "I will".

Our time is not God's time. If The Lord makes a promise to you, He WILL fulfill it. That is a certainty. If you reach out to Him in earnest, He will speak to you. He may not say much, but His WISDOM will resound in your soul, and you will believe with total assurance.

God's Word is like that last, lonely elm tree, still standing out there on the farm: SOLID and UNSHAKEABLE, enduring, no matter what is thrown at it. You can go to it, you can take comfort in it, and it will shield, refresh, and rejuvenate you, no matter what is going on in your life at the time.
 
I don't need that elm tree any more, as much as it means to me. I have something far, far better in this world I can go to for solace and refreshment. I first heard about her there, but now she is here.

Her name is I Will.