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Sixteen years ago, we met: a mature sweet gum tree shading the front of my new bungalow with rich green foliage. It had survived the city’s removal of a large limb, its wound long healed.
Months passed, before spotting a solitary yellow leaf laying on the grass, its stem dormant, announcing the change. I looked up. Still largely green, occasional bi-colored leaves hung on the branches. The surprise was unfurling like swirls of colorful cloths shown at auction: scarlets, lime greens, buttery yellows, and thievery browns.
For several weeks, the show continued until its demise: mounds of faded shriveled leaves strewn around the yard, later raked and bagged for the city’s yard waste pick-up. Stripped from my natural beauty, I grieved. It would be a long wait for its return.
As years passed, the sweet gum tree continued prospering, with more bags of gum balls lined at the curb for the city’s pick-up.
Then, the disruption began: 2021’s violent rain storms wrenched two large branches from the trunk leaving large swaths of exposed wood. Its woundedness remained with us until three weeks ago, when another large limb crashed to the street, with nothing precipitating this loss. The sweet gum tree was ailing and the arborist’s response was to take it down. A red cord, now circling the trunk, will enable the crew to identify it.
The analogy between the ailing sweet gum tree all that lives, including ourselves, is obvious, but our spirits continue on.
We wait for the inevitable.
“This is the Body of Christ, Liz,” she said placing the cross-incised wafer into my outstretched palms and returning to the chair in my study. Silence of communion etched innate belonging upon our psyches; we gleamed with the gift.
Only after raising my eyes did I begin to speak. “Thanks, Bridget, it’s been a long time. I so appreciate your coming to my home this morning,” I said, scooting back in my arm chair and noting the sun’s glimmer upon a cardinal’s wings, in flight. Before her arrival, I wondered what we’d have to share. Yet, words came easily, despite my departure from the church seventeen years ago, caused by a significant dream.
“I’m also glad to see you again, Liz. Your home is lovely, so welcoming. How long have you lived here?” And so, the conversation grew, with intervals of laughter.
In her younger years, Bridget had taught religious education to the parish children, then, went on for a degree in theology in spiritual direction and retreats, all the while, raising children with her husband, still an avid chess player. Her interest in my life experiences led to questions about my terminal illness.
“Do know that your name appears in the weekly bulletin—among the ill parishioners? Although you are not physically among us, we come to each of you, in prayer, Fridays at the church.” Of special note were her strong hands with a simple gold band and her lively eyes filled with life’s rough and tumble amusement.
Before we separated, I asked, “Bridget, will you remove your mask so I can see your face? It’s been a while.”
In the ensuing moment, unspeakable joy fused us to Another. The Gift deepens.
“Please open wide,” he said in soothing tones. Goggled, bibbbed, and slightly tilted backwards upon his dental chair, I closed my eyes and prayed, “God’s care,” with each breath. Bit by bit, I felt my body relax, my spirit welcoming God’s hands replacing the filling from my molar that had fallen out. With Jessica’s assistance, the hole was soon filled. A simple procedure, yes, but one that I had dreaded, given my weakness and shortness of breath and coughing spells.
Indeed, I did experience God’s care tending my damaged tooth, yesterday, and for twenty years, his specialty in biological dentistry that informs his practice; it has kept me well with dental products compatible to my bio-chemical make-up—No metals of any kind in my mouth.
When it was time to part, his eyes smiling, he placed his large hand upon mine and said, “I wish you well.” In that moment, our spirits co-mingled within deep joy, evidence of His healing touch.
His name is Dr. G. Michael Rehme, DDS, located in Town and Country, Missouri. His son Michael, a dentistry practitioner, has recently joined the practice.
Heart Whisperings 