Out of the Stump

Out of the stump of David’s family will grow a shoot—yes, a new Branch bearing fruit from the old root.

Isaiah 11:1

I named him Oliver, and he was the cutest olive tree I’d ever seen. Sitting brave in his hand-hewn pot right in the middle of the village market, he seemed to be expecting me. I bought him immediately and took him home to live on my terrace. 

Day after day, I tended him. I read books about how to care for him; I carefully placed him in the optimal spot for sun. I watered him just the right amount. In winter I brought him inside, and he only complained slightly by dropping a few leaves.

Spring came again, and he grew taller. I gave him pride of place on the terrace once again. But as the heat grew fierce, he shed his leaves and would not drink water. He was protesting, and I could not seem to cheer him no matter how I tried.

Day after day he dried up and his branches grew brittle. Eventually, he lost all signs of life.

Brokenhearted, I put on my gloves and prepared to remove him from his pot. But then I remembered another olive tree, an older, wiser one I once knew in an ancient walled city in North Africa. That tree grew in my garden, its roots deep in the earth. It, too appeared lifeless, and the previous owner had chopped it down to the ground. Only an ugly, splintery stump remained. My boys climbed it, drove trucks, pushed trains, and tumbled all over it every day.

One spring afternoon, I was picking up their toys and discovered a new, green branch growing out of the old stump. Over the coming months, it multiplied, and the stump became a tree. It seemed to grow exponentially, and we marveled at the metaphor.

Instead of pulling Oliver up by his roots and placing him in the compost pile, I took up my shears and searched for the right spot along his trunk to prune. It was a solemn task, and when I finished, I reverently placed him in a sheltered corner of his once-beloved terrace.

Today, Oliver’s little stump is the proud bearer of a strong, green branch, with leaves darker and richer than any he once had. His branch appears to be even stronger than the stump from which it sprang, and I expect it any day to exceed in circumference. 

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. And we were promised that out of the shattered, sawed-off stump of a broken family, a shoot would grow, a new Branch bearing fruit from the old root.

This is astonishing, really, if you think about it. The Savior of the world sprang from a family full of dreams and promises, heartbreak and disappointment. A family that crashed to the ground, leaving only a splintered remnant.

If the world were a metaphor this Christmas, it would look like a ravaged landscape of splintered remains, the hills and valleys dotted with stumps where families once stood tall and green, full of sap and hope.

We bring our stumps to You, Lord. The chopped-down plans we had. The sawed-off dreams. The hurt and the pain and all the unforgiveness harbored in bruised and broken hearts. The prodigal son and the absent father. The bitter mother and the estranged brother. The addicted daughter, the lost child, the ones who can’t remember love. Mistakes made, regrets raging. Branch of Jesse, grow a shoot of hope out of our stumps this Christmas. 

@audreycfrank

Photo by Joey Kyber on Unsplash