Two majestic pines grace the view from my craft room window this morning.
They stand tall, each a different shade of green. I wonder if they’ve been here since the neighborhood was young. Oh, the stories these pines could tell. Their branches arch over several yards, and I imagine them looking down on the streets below, watching the cars, the children, the ordinary to and fro. On a clear day, I wonder if they can see all the way west to the Flatirons and the high peaks beyond.
Seeing those two pines side by side makes me think of The Tale of Three Trees, a story I love to read at Christmas. But where is the third tree? I smile at myself for looking for it.
In the story, each tree dreams of what it might become. One is made into a feeding box, another into a boat, and the third into a cross. Imagine how small those lives must have looked to them at first. And yet the feeding box held Jesus as a baby. The boat carried him when he calmed the storm. The cross held him when he gave his life. Each tree had a part in the Savior’s story that it could never have imagined.
I still get goosebumps almost every time I read it. I read it at Christmas Eve services a few times, and if there’s time, I’ll read it to my second graders this Christmas. I’ll keep reading it to myself, to my children, anyone who will listen. And this year, I think I know why I need to hear it again.
Part of why I felt prompted for a recent job change was that I wanted to make more of a difference in people’s lives. And then came second grade! Some afternoons are harder and a lot less glamorous than I imagined. When I’m trying to get everyone settled, I can get so caught up in what needs to happen next that it’s easy to forget to look at the child right in front of me. Sometimes that child needs a patient word or someone to sit beside them while they try again. I get to share Jesus with these kids, and I’m learning how much of that happens in the little moments I could so easily hurry past.
I think of Paul’s words in Ephesians 3:20, about how God can do far more than we ask or imagine through his power at work within us. I love that within us. The God who can see across generations is right here with me in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, giving me a little more patience, a little more love, a little more room to see what I might have missed.
From my craft room window, I can see the branches move in the breeze. I still wonder how far those pines can see. And when I walk into second grade again, I ask God to help me see a little farther than the noise of the moment. There’s a child in front of me whose story He already knows. I get to love them in this little part of it.
Father, thank you for letting me be part of these children’s lives. Help me notice what each child needs, especially on busy afternoons when I’m trying to keep us on track. Give me energy for the day and give me your patience when mine runs thin. I want to do what you have called me to in this moment with my whole heart. This classroom is yours, and these children are yours. Let them feel your love in the way I speak to them and care for them today. Amen.
What ordinary moment in your life might God be helping you see differently?
Ask Him to walk with you today and help you notice where He’s already at work. He sees the whole story and cares about every little part of it.
And may you, like the three trees, find joy in serving the Savior in whatever moments He calls you to, big or small.
Until next time,
