And now a Christmas Story About An Old Oak
Tree. It’s called:
Once
upon a time there was wood near the seashore and in that wood stood a very old
oak tree. It was exactly three hundred and sixty five years old but to the oak
tree it seemed to be scarcely longer than a year appears to us. You see a
tree’s life is not the same as a human’s.
Another
way we are different is that we are awake during the day and sleep at night and
that is when we have our dreams. However, it’s different with a tree, a tree
stays awake during spring summer and autumn and winter is when it goes to
sleep.
One
warm summer day a little May fly was dancing around the tree and as it settled
for a rest on one of the oak tree’s leafs the oak said,
“Poor
little May fly, your life is so short, how sad”
“Sad”
replied the May fly, ”What do you mean sad, It’s a beautiful warm day and I’m
so happy”
“Yes”
said the oak tree “But only for one day and then it’s all over for you”
“Over”
said the May fly, “What does over mean, is it all over for you as well”
“Noooo
Little one for I shall live for thousands of days and for me one of my years is
like a day for you. My life last for so long you could never figure it out”
“No,
I don’t understand at all. You have thousands of my days to live but I have
thousands of seconds in which to be happy. When you die will all the beauty of
this world die as well?” said the May fly.
“No”
said the Oak tree, “It will last a lot longer than even I can imagine”
“Well
then, we each have an equally long life, only we figure it out differently”
said the May fly.
The
May fly flew up off the leaf and began to dance and glide in the air, it
rejoiced in the warmth of the sun, and the smell of the flowers. The day was
long and beautiful, full of happiness and sweet experiences and by sunset the
little May fly was very tired from all the excitement, it’s little wings would
no longer support it and very gently it glided down onto the leaf of the Oak
tree closed its eyes and fell into a very deep peaceful sleep, for the May fly
life was over.
“Poor
little May fly” said the oak, “So short a life”
Every
summer day the same tale was repeated, the same questions and the same answers,
the same peaceful sleep. The Oak tree saw generations of May flies and all of
them were happy and light hearted.
Spring,
summer, and autumn passed and soon it would be time for the oak tree to go to
sleep. The wind was beginning to sing its winter song,
“Good
night, good night. There falls a leaf, there falls a leaf, I plucked it, I
plucked it. Go to sleep, I will sing you to sleep, I will gently rock you to
sleep. Do your old branches feel good, do they creak in pure contentment. Sleep
sweetly, sleeeep sweetly. This is your three hundred and sixty fifth night, but
your only a baby. Sleep sweetly, the snow is beginning to gently fall, it will
spread a warm blanket over your roots. Sleeep sweetly and have pleasant dreams”
sang the chill winter wind.
The
oak tree stood stripped of its leaves began to sleep and in its sleep it began
to dream of something that had happened to it long long ago. You see trees
dream just like we do.
The
Oak tree had once been very small, so small in fact that an acorn had been its
cradle but now it was nearly four hundred years old. It was the tallest and
mightiest tree in the wood towering high above all the other trees. It was so
tall that it could be seen far out to sea and it served as a landmark for ships
to steer by. The Oak tree never realised how many eyes looked for it, it just
thought of the wood pigeons that had built a nest high up in its branches, and
the cuckoo which made its strange sound in the morning. It knew about the birds
that rested on its branches before making their long journey across the seas.
Now it was winter and it listened to the crows and the jackdaws who came to
gossip about the hard times that were beginning and how difficult it was to
find food in the winter. It was Christmas and the oak dreamed its most beautiful
dream of all and it is this dream that I will tell you about.
The
Oak had a funny feeling that something big was happening, he could hear all the
church bells ringing and the day was mild and warm, like a summers day. The oak
spread its mighty branches and sunbeams played lightly on its leaves. The air
was filled with the fragrance of herbs and blossom, butterflies played catch me
if you can and May flies danced happily through the air. All the trees long
life seemed to pass by as if it was a holiday procession. Knights and ladies of
bygone days with feathers on their caps and hawks on their wrists rode through
the wood, dogs barked and hunting horns sounded. The tree saw soldiers in shiny
armour with spears and halberds pitching their tents, sitting by camp fires and
singing songs. Next it saw young lovers meeting in the twilight, carving their
names or initials in the grey green bark of its trunk. They played music on
harps and sang sweetly to each other and the wood pigeons cooed as if
expressing what the tree felt, and the cuckoo announced how many more summer
days it had to live.
Then
in its dream the oak tree seemed to be filled with a new and stronger current
of life, it flowed through its veins, down to its smallest roots, up to its
highest branches, even out to the tip of its leaves. It felt as if it was
stretching, life and warmth stirred down in the earth around its roots and it
felt the strength increase and that it was growing taller and taller. Its trunk
shot up, its branches became thicker and it grew and grew and grew reaching
higher and higher as it reached for the bright, warm sun. It was now high above
the clouds and every leaf could see as if it had eyes, the stars became
visible, all shining like clear bright eyes twinkling in the sky. To the oak
tree they looked like the kindly eyes it had known through its life, those of
children and lovers who met beneath the tree.
It
was a blessed moment, so full of joy and yet tinged with sadness for the oak
dearly wished that all the other trees in the wood, all the bushes, plants, and
flowers could be lifted up and share in this moment. To share in its glory for
in its dream the oak could not be fully happy without all the others, small and
great, sharing in it. It felt this yearning coursing through its leaves and
branches as strongly as if it had a human heart.
The
oak looked back to the earth and suddenly it began to smell the scent of the
herbs and blossom, it seemed to be getting stronger, nearer. He could hear the
sound of the cuckoo as it talked to itself and now it began to see the green
tops of the woodland peeping up through the clouds. The oak saw that the other
trees were growing and lifting themselves up as it had, bushes, plants, and
flowers were rising high into the air, some even tearing themselves loose from
their roots to soar up even faster. The birds quickly followed and sang and on
the grass far below the grasshopper sat and drummed his wings against his legs.
The beast of the fields called out and the bees buzzed. Song and happiness were
everywhere, right up into heaven.
“This
is wonderful” said the oak tree, “I have them all with me, small and great, non
have been forgotten. But how can this be possible”
And
a voice sounded from high above “In the kingdom of God all things are possible”
And
the oak tree continued to grow, as it came loose from the earth it said “This
is best of all, now no bonds shall hold me and I can soar to the heights of
glory and light and all my loved ones are with me”
That was the dream of the Oak tree, and while
it dreamed on that holy Christmas Eve, a mighty storm was sweeping over land
and sea. The waves crashed onto the shore; the tree cracked, groaned, and was
torn up by the roots, at the very moment when it was dreaming that its roots
were freeing themselves from the earth. It fell. Its three hundred and
sixty-five years were now as a day is to the May fly.
On Christmas morning, as the sun rose ,the
storm had passed. All the bells were ringing and smoke appeared from every
chimney. The sea was now calm once again and out at sea, aboard a ship that had
weathered the storm all the flags were raised to greet Christmas Day,
“The Tree has gone, the old oak tree that was
our landmark” said the sailors,
“It must have fallen during the storm last
night. What can ever replace it” The answer came back “Nothing”
That one simple word was the trees eulogy,
brief but sincere. It lay stretched out on a carpet of snow near the seashore
while over it drifted the sound of a hymn being sung on the ship. Sung in thanksgiving
for the joy of Christmas, Joy for the salvation of the soul through the birth
of Christ and Joy for the gift of eternal life.
Sing loud, sweet angel, on Christmas morn.
Hallelujah! Christ the Saviour is born.
In joy receive His blessing.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
These were the words of the old hymn, and everyone aboard the ship felt
himself lifted heavenward by them, and by prayer, even as the old tree had
lifted itself in its last, most beautiful dream that Christmas Eve.
