Roots

They descended from the tree like muscular legs anchored in the soil. In the sinewy shapes of these roots, I saw angels and mermaids and ancient Greek statues. But more than anything else, I saw the fruits of patience and love.

This crepe myrtle tree was planted about 40 years ago by my oldest brother Dick and his wife Karen after they themselves were transplanted to Orlando. “It was maybe four feet high, little more than a big twig,” Dick recalls. “We really never expected it to grow.”

But grow it did. The tree now rises to the rooftop of their house and occupies most of the front lawn. What was once a big twig now has such expansive girth that I couldn’t wrap my arms halfway around its trunk.

As the tree grew, so too did the three children who were raised in the home. Those offspring – my niece and nephews – are now in their 50s with children of their own, some of whom are already off to college.

So much growth, so much flourishing. The tree’s branches are covered with brightly colored petals that carpet the yard when they fall; inside the house, the walls are covered with pictures of my brother’s children and grandchildren. I realize it’s all part of the same story.

When the roots are strong and nurtured by conditions that allow life to thrive, the results can be formidable.

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