The Healing Tree

About forty years ago, I was working at the new Warwick Day Care Center, housed in some of the classrooms of the Warwick Reformed Church on Maple Avenue. Two little girls lived next door in the pastor’s house with their parents, and they were perhaps six and seven years old.

The pastor had asked if his daughters could occasionally join us to play with the pre-schoolers in our care. Of course the response was positive as they were lovely children—sensitive, imaginative, and kind.

One day the two girls were helping me carry a table from their basement to the Center, and I asked the eldest at the other end of the table if it was too heavy for her. She looked at me, but didn’t say a word. Her sibling then told me matter-of-factly that her sister, Jane*, didn’t speak to adults. At the time, I pretended that was nothing out of the ordinary, but later wondered about the wounding that occurred to what must be a very sensitive child.

We all enjoyed the girls’ occasional visits and during one memorable one, Jane spoke to me. She said, “I want to show you something.” Then she led the way to the large maple tree on the front lawn between her home and the church, and said, “This is my friend.”

Jane had found what she most needed in her tree—a strong, silent, sheltering, totally accepting presence—as she gradually overcame her fear. I said how lucky she was to have such a special friend and felt very moved by her trust.

A few months later the family relocated as pastors seem to do and, of course, the tree remained. Did it remember Jane, I wondered.

A while ago I saw tree people performing surgery on the still magnificent maple. It had been struck by lightning and would bear a scar, which in time would heal.

--Rosella M. Schaefer

* Not her real name, which truthfully I cannot remember.