Bent

My grandfather had a half-acre plot in Royal Oak, Michigan. He purchased it in 1921 and located it in a northern suburb of Detroit—long before suburbs were a thing.

When I was a kid, a large section of his backyard was his garden.

Bepaw had a green thumb, and everyone around him benefited from fresh vegetables and fruit from the trees throughout his yard. He had six apple varieties,plum, peach, and pear trees, as well as raspberries and blackberry bushes.

His one ongoing fruit project was trying to get Italian figs to grow in our cold climate. He would begin a weeks-long activity of bending his fig tree every fall. He tied a rope and applied pressure to pull the tree over, adjusting it lower and lower each day. He did this so he could cover the tree with leaves and a hot box—hoping to save its life through our harsh winters. It worked. The tree he had imported from his native Italy lived for many years.

After the threat of frost passed by early May, he would uncover his tree and let it reach again for the sky. Within a week, the fig tree responded with new life, and the leaves stretched upward, thirsting for the summer sun.

This morning, I was thinking about humility and my need for more of it when this memory flooded back. This has been a difficult summer, and I couldn’t help but wonder why God would be so kind to teach me to bend low in submission without snapping me off completely.

The struggle is a gift.

I need to remember.

‍