Bird's Eye View
Often when I’m walking down to my garden, I notice weeds here and there as I wade through the lush Bermuda of the backyard. From my kitchen window, or even the sofa on the patio, I don’t see those unwanted shoots camouflaged among the blades of green grass. I cannot suppress the urge to stoop and pluck them. Yet, it seems, the more I pull, the more there are to pull. The satisfaction of weed-elimination can be quickly overtaken by a sense of futility.
Isn’t this sometimes the way it is in life? We look too closely and become overwhelmed by the blemishes we find. In our minds, the negative outweighs the positive.
My mother has taken to recording some of her thoughts and memories. Needless to say, I treasure these glimpses into her childhood.
Below is one story she shared with me recently. A young girl in the 1950s, high in the branches of a tree, observing her two younger brothers and her family’s evening ritual. What if we sometimes took such a bird’s eye view of our own lives? Would our perspective of our little brothers, our small house, our yard and its weeds change? They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps it separates us from life’s flaws enough to grasp the bigger picture.
I hope you enjoy this story as much as I did. After you’ve read it, find a tree with limbs just right for climbing, or take a seat on the patio. Try it and see how different things look from there.
My Secret Place
At the edge of the farm that was my home stood a tall pine tree with limbs placed just right for climbing. In the afternoon when school was out and chores were done, I’d take my books, pencils and paper and up the tree I would go. As I sat up there, I could hear and see the sights and sounds that were my world at the time.
In the distance, I could hear the saws in the wood shop where my daddy and his brothers worked each day. Mama would be in the kitchen preparing supper for us. I can still hear the old screen door slamming as she went in and out with her daily routine. My younger brothers would be in the backyard or the nearby woods with their usual games of chase or shooting the BB gun or whatever choice of toys held their interest for the day.
As the afternoon slowly and quietly drew to an end, the big yellow sun nestled in a collection of clouds tinted with a touch of pink and orange, lined with a hint of gray, I could hear the saws stop and Daddy’s truck start up as he made his way home to see to his cows.
Mama would come out onto the back porch and call us to supper. I didn’t want my time of reflection to come to an end.
The boys would stop their play and race to the house seeing who could get there first. Mama would have to stop her work and settle the situation.
Slowly, I made my way to the house already looking forward to another afternoon in my secret place. Feeling safe and secure in my home with those who were so dear to me, I joined my brothers at the table for the evening meal.
The house and the tree are gone now, but the memories are still fresh and sweet in my mind. Home, family, and the Lord are the things that make life precious and good.
By Sandra Royster