By Connie Sturm Cameron
Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to prayer offered in this place.
~2 Chronicles 7:15
As I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes that late October evening, I couldn't stop staring out the window. Thousands of sweet-smelling evergreen trees of various types and sizes dotted the country property we'd recently purchased. They looked beautiful to me, but because they hadn't been trimmed and shaped for years, the previous owner told us they were unmarketable. We'd hoped to sell the trees to offset the costs of repairs to our 150-year-old farmhouse.
"They ain't worth nuttin'," he had said. "They're too spindly on top."
Even my husband Chuck reluctantly suggested, "Maybe we should bulldoze them and start over."
I didn't believe they were worthless, and I especially didn't think so that night. With the soft light of dusk shadowing their majestic frames, the trees glowed.
I piled the dishes into the sink, unable to get my mind off the trees. As I kept glancing out the window, the view became more compelling, drawing me outside among the trees.
I thought I was being silly. Why would I take a walk while it was getting dark? Soon the skunks and bats would be out.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice inside me said, "Walk among those trees and pray over them."
The last golden rays of the setting sun were rapidly fading. It didn't make sense to go outside, so I decided to just pray from the kitchen.
But once again, more firmly, I heard in my mind, "Walk among the trees."
This time I obediently peeled off the yellow dishwashing gloves, tossed them on the counter, and without a word to anyone, slipped quietly out the front door.
The cool crisp air smelled of rich earth as I began my journey. A lone owl hooted in the distance. Dew was already forming on the ground as I climbed the steep hill that was home to several hundred Norway Spruces and White Pines. The closer I got to the grove, the headier the scent of pine. How I loved that smell. Happy, carefree childhood memories of Christmas enveloped me whenever I inhaled that wonderful, pungent aroma. Evergreens invite a sense of permanence and stability. Unlike other trees their needles don't completely shed, and they're hearty enough to withstand extreme weather conditions.
As I walked in and out of row upon row, an uncanny sense of oneness with the trees filled me. They were part of God's creation, alive and vibrant. Like me, they had worth and merit. And, like me, they weren't perfect, but still had a reason for being.
I stooped, noticing patches of tall grasses softly matted down where deer had nestled for the night. God used these pine trees to bring protection and pleasure to His creation. Birds softly chirped and their light feathers rustled as they settled in for the night in the thick pine boughs. I began softly singing, in awe of our Creator.
I continued walking, reflecting on how a few weeks earlier I had contacted several local tree nurseries in search of a buyer. Just a few were interested, but none had made us an offer. Having always lived in the suburbs I had no idea how expensive it would be living in the country. It seemed we were always putting money into something: tractor repairs or new attachments, gravel for our long lane, auto repairs for all the extra driving on rough country roads, pond upkeep, garden equipment, and of course the ongoing expenses of our old farmhouse.
As I turned and started toward home, I prayed, "Please God, help us partner with someone who wants and needs these trees."
The outside lights glowed when I finally reached the bottom of the hill.
"There you are," Chuck said, sounding relieved. "What are you doing out here? It's getting dark."
"Thinking... and praying over the pine trees," I said. "I know they are worth something and I think we should contact more nurseries to see if anyone is interested."
"Sure, honey. If it makes you feel better, I'll give Bill another call tomorrow," Chuck said, a slight teasing tone in his voice.
Our friend Bill owned a nursery and was very knowledgeable about pine trees, but when he'd come to look at them, he hadn't seemed interested.
At that moment, as we stood outside the front door, the phone rang. I dashed inside to answer it, almost with a sense of anticipation.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Connie? This is Bill. Is Chuck there?"
I ran out the front door and told my husband who it was.
"Yeah, right," he said, reaching for the phone in my outstretched hand. "You're kidding, aren't you?"
"No, honey... here!"
I walked back inside and refilled the sink with fresh hot water, barely resisting the temptation to stay outside and eavesdrop.
When Chuck finally came in, he slowly hung up the phone, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What did Bill want, honey?" I asked, although deep down I already knew.
"He wanted to know if we still had some trees for sale." Chuck paused and swallowed hard.
"He has an interested buyer."
Now my eyes will be open and my ears attentive to prayer offered in this place.
~2 Chronicles 7:15
As I stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes that late October evening, I couldn't stop staring out the window. Thousands of sweet-smelling evergreen trees of various types and sizes dotted the country property we'd recently purchased. They looked beautiful to me, but because they hadn't been trimmed and shaped for years, the previous owner told us they were unmarketable. We'd hoped to sell the trees to offset the costs of repairs to our 150-year-old farmhouse.
"They ain't worth nuttin'," he had said. "They're too spindly on top."
Even my husband Chuck reluctantly suggested, "Maybe we should bulldoze them and start over."
I didn't believe they were worthless, and I especially didn't think so that night. With the soft light of dusk shadowing their majestic frames, the trees glowed.
I piled the dishes into the sink, unable to get my mind off the trees. As I kept glancing out the window, the view became more compelling, drawing me outside among the trees.
I thought I was being silly. Why would I take a walk while it was getting dark? Soon the skunks and bats would be out.
Then, out of nowhere, a voice inside me said, "Walk among those trees and pray over them."
The last golden rays of the setting sun were rapidly fading. It didn't make sense to go outside, so I decided to just pray from the kitchen.
But once again, more firmly, I heard in my mind, "Walk among the trees."
This time I obediently peeled off the yellow dishwashing gloves, tossed them on the counter, and without a word to anyone, slipped quietly out the front door.
The cool crisp air smelled of rich earth as I began my journey. A lone owl hooted in the distance. Dew was already forming on the ground as I climbed the steep hill that was home to several hundred Norway Spruces and White Pines. The closer I got to the grove, the headier the scent of pine. How I loved that smell. Happy, carefree childhood memories of Christmas enveloped me whenever I inhaled that wonderful, pungent aroma. Evergreens invite a sense of permanence and stability. Unlike other trees their needles don't completely shed, and they're hearty enough to withstand extreme weather conditions.
As I walked in and out of row upon row, an uncanny sense of oneness with the trees filled me. They were part of God's creation, alive and vibrant. Like me, they had worth and merit. And, like me, they weren't perfect, but still had a reason for being.
I stooped, noticing patches of tall grasses softly matted down where deer had nestled for the night. God used these pine trees to bring protection and pleasure to His creation. Birds softly chirped and their light feathers rustled as they settled in for the night in the thick pine boughs. I began softly singing, in awe of our Creator.
I continued walking, reflecting on how a few weeks earlier I had contacted several local tree nurseries in search of a buyer. Just a few were interested, but none had made us an offer. Having always lived in the suburbs I had no idea how expensive it would be living in the country. It seemed we were always putting money into something: tractor repairs or new attachments, gravel for our long lane, auto repairs for all the extra driving on rough country roads, pond upkeep, garden equipment, and of course the ongoing expenses of our old farmhouse.
As I turned and started toward home, I prayed, "Please God, help us partner with someone who wants and needs these trees."
The outside lights glowed when I finally reached the bottom of the hill.
"There you are," Chuck said, sounding relieved. "What are you doing out here? It's getting dark."
"Thinking... and praying over the pine trees," I said. "I know they are worth something and I think we should contact more nurseries to see if anyone is interested."
"Sure, honey. If it makes you feel better, I'll give Bill another call tomorrow," Chuck said, a slight teasing tone in his voice.
Our friend Bill owned a nursery and was very knowledgeable about pine trees, but when he'd come to look at them, he hadn't seemed interested.
At that moment, as we stood outside the front door, the phone rang. I dashed inside to answer it, almost with a sense of anticipation.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Connie? This is Bill. Is Chuck there?"
I ran out the front door and told my husband who it was.
"Yeah, right," he said, reaching for the phone in my outstretched hand. "You're kidding, aren't you?"
"No, honey... here!"
I walked back inside and refilled the sink with fresh hot water, barely resisting the temptation to stay outside and eavesdrop.
When Chuck finally came in, he slowly hung up the phone, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What did Bill want, honey?" I asked, although deep down I already knew.
"He wanted to know if we still had some trees for sale." Chuck paused and swallowed hard.
"He has an interested buyer."
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