The Giving Tree

Deep in the hills of Appalachia, so near the boundary it's difficult to tell where Virginia ends and Tennessee begins, sits a modest brick Church. Stained glass windows line the walls; illustrating scenes of giving, hope and love. At the base of each window, carefully engraved, names of each Minister who stood at the wooden pulpit are on display.

The first name belongs to our Great-Grandfather. The man who encouraged a poverty stricken community to unite and build that sacred place of worship. Our Grandfather's name rests just below the window directly opposite. Our Grandfather who, as a child, contributed to the build the only way he knew how; carrying bricks and nails and lemonade to eager hands of future parishioners turned devoted laborers.

At the front of the property stood a Red Oak tree, untouched by site clearing and construction. Decades of history rested quietly within the bark of its wide trunk. Tall and resolute it stood, unaffected by even the strongest of winds. During Church construction, services were held beneath long, outstretched limbs blanketed with vibrant crimson leaves. When it came time to open the hymnals, the ever-present melody of rustling leaves faded as harmonious voices echoed through the green landscape of the muted valley.

Once the Church was erected, services moved inside. Our Great-Grandfather took his place at the pulpit while his family sat reverently in the front pew. Years of countless sermons echoed within those walls. Lessons of love and grace and giving filled that blessed sanctuary week after week, year after year, until the day arrived when our Grandfather stepped into the role of Minister. He at the pulpit; our Great-Grandfather, now aged by the hands of time, watching peacefully from the front pew.

The passing of time brought changes to the community however, one thing remained constant and steady: the presence of that Red Oak tree. At the conclusion of each service, our Grandfather would stand under that tree and wait, as his father had done so many times before. By then, everyone in the community knew why. He was waiting for someone. He was waiting, with a servants heart, for the next person in need. And, without fail, someone would always come.

Man, woman or entire family, local or transient, our Grandfather would extend his hand to all, regardless of social status. Like a lighthouse shining brightly through the storm, our Grandfather offered each and every one comfort; welcoming them into his home to eat and rest and pray alongside his family.

Throughout our childhood, our mother shared stories of visitors from all walks of life. Frequent occasions where her night was spent on the couch so the visitor would have a private room; a place to rest and prepare for the journey ahead. When morning arrived, our Grandfather would offer words of encouragement through thoughtful prayer, before the visitor left to continue along their path in life. He was sure to remind them to practice kindness in the face of hardship and struggle; to embrace the practice of giving, even when you don't have much to give. Because to give, is to love. And there is no greater gift than Love.

Today, our family is honored to continue their work. Today, we are the Ministers. Today, we are the ones who wait, with a servant's heart and outstretched hands, under the canopy of that sacred Red Tree.