Spring has arrived and the grass is shooting up from the ground nearly too quickly for the lawnmower to keep up. The flowers on my apple trees burst open during one night last week and all is well in my humble garden…except for my three precious blue spruce trees.

These three trees represented three Christmas celebrations. Each tree was selected, in turn, by my children and reminded us of the unique tastes that each child possesses. Finally, each tree served as a statement that we were finally “home” and that after years of moving (seven major moves in twelve years) we were going to stay put.

We took tender care of the three trees. When each one completed its seasonal duty we placed it in the best location my back yard had to offer. They grew healthily each year and offered year round beauty. I was very proud of these trees.

Some sort of bag worm got the first (and most beautiful) tree we planted. Last year’s drought took the second tree. The third tree appeared to be healthy all winter long, but now during the season when it should be resplendent, it is turning brown.

We have lost all three trees.

One could draw all sorts of conclusions from the death of the trees, or draw no conclusion at all. In the midst of my grief (yes this former Oregonian does mourn the loss of his evergreen trees) I am reminded in a painfully clear way that this world is not my home. I am not permanent, my house is not permanent, even my children are not permanent here. We are just passing through to the place where death is no longer operative and decay holds no sway.

I thank God that he has allowed me to stay in this sure hope because of Christ Jesus. Elsewhere I would descend into despondency.

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