How a 144-year-old oak tree changed me.
Opening our eyes to history and how it forms our present lives.
As you turn into my driveway, you’ll find its branches stretching wide over the pavement. The vast trunk is wider than I can wrap my arms around, and has lichen growing prevalently along the base. The tree has a similar eerie sway as a weeping willow, but the small points of its leaves show that it’s a different species—a Southern Live Oak. Its branches loom long and wide over our driveway—like a welcoming friend waving “Hello” as you enter our farm.
I live in the piedmont area of north Georgia, which means from my farm on the hill, my eyes catch a distant glimpse of the beautiful Appalachian Mountains. The Blue Ridge crests often gently peak through fog in the morning sunrises—looking as if they hold endless miles of mystery.
I’ve been fascinated lately with the history of Georgia as a whole, but specifically our area of north Georgia. I’m just at the onset of dipping my toes into the past of this beautiful area—which holds so much pain and beauty. Such a parallel to my life. I wonder if it is to yours as well?
What pain have our stories held?
What beauty have they unearthed?
Recently, my family and I measured the oak tree at the bottom of our driveway. We were curious to estimate how old it was—1880. The tree that welcomes me in a warm embrace each time I enter the sacredness of my home has been growing for around 144 years.
Let’s pause here, because this feels important.
When this tree first started digging its now strong roots into the Georgia red dirt…
A mere 40+ years prior, our Cherokee brothers and sisters had been a tragically ripped from their homes and forced on a road of which many lost their lives. My farm must have held much Cherokee life, as this tribe was most prevalent in north Georgia. Through the years, various Indigenous items have been found on our property.
The Civil War had ended only 15 years prior, which was a bloodshed for freedom to end the grotesque slavery that was so widespread in our land.
As a baby sapling, this tree experienced the sickening onslaught and violent expansion of racism in the early 1900’s—innocent lives taken, and laws being declared through the lens of prejudiced, blind eyes.
This oak was growing stronger as our country experienced multiple wars and conflicts across the world—lives given for our freedom.
Its branches were old and tough as previous family members lived under its shade and story—walking home from school, bringing home the groceries, losing loved ones.
Oh, the history this oak has witnessed.
What are the stories its branches could tell?
Who are the souls that found shade or were laid to rest under its boughs?
Now I find myself here—where past meets present.
God is here.
I am here now. They are also here. The stories, the hands, the history that this land holds—also now hold me.
My family.
Our story.
History in the making.
We live and we work. We cry and we grieve. We rejoice and play. Life lives on under the welcoming “Hello” of our oak tree.
Oh, how this speaks to to our life—my life and yours. We hold the past of our stories—the pain, heartaches, joys, and sorrows. We hold the last goodbyes, first steps, spilled milk, grass cutting, silent tears, deep desires, and unexpected losses. We hold the words not spoken, the surprise parties, answered prayers, and despondent cries.
We hold all of who we were, to welcome all of who we are.
We are not who we are, without looking back at who we were. We are not who we are, without looking forward to who we’re becoming.
We are here. Right now.
The Holy is here too.
The Eternal Father is weaving a story so much grander than our human eyes can see. This story strings together all of who we were, are, and will be, into a beautiful tapestry of His glory—radiant and beautiful. It may not feel beautiful in the present. It may not feel that any of your life, your history, your pain, brings God glory.
This is faith.
We hold the unanswered questions.
We hold the doubts of our beliefs.
We hold the pain-filled pleas of, “What are you doing God?”
I’m not the only one who has asked these questions of God. You are not alone in your wonderings as well. We are on this journey of life together—holding the sacredness of where we were and where we are with all it entails.
Where do you need to invite God into your past?
What might our friend Jesus being saying to you in your present?
What are the whisper prayers of the Spirit over who you’re becoming?
Matthew Sleeth in his book Reforesting Faith says this, “Trees have a way of bridging generations, connecting us with the past and inviting us to dream of the future. When we plant and tend trees, we imitate God.”
What is God inviting you to tend to today?
How is your “tending to” imitating Him?
May you feel His love in your everyday holy moments.
Alongside,
Brianna Brown