When a Property Starts Giving Back

This morning, I noticed a flash of blue high in one of our old live oaks. A pair of Eastern Bluebirds had claimed the end of a weathered limb, and before long I watched the male fly down, catch an insect, and carry it back to the female.

As I stood there watching them, I realized they had chosen one of the very limbs that Hurricane Helene had broken.

After the hurricane, I remember looking across our property with a heavy heart. The damage was overwhelming. The beautiful live oaks that had stood for generations had twisted limbs, broken branches, and scars that seemed impossible to ignore.

But as I walked beneath those trees, I noticed something.

Where the storm had twisted those massive limbs like they were nothing more than twigs, it had created natural cavities.

That's when a thought came to me.

When we prune a tree, we're taught to make a clean cut, flush with the trunk or the main limb, so the tree can heal over and become whole again.

But when God prunes a tree, He doesn't always make it perfect.

Sometimes He leaves behind a hollow.

A place where a bluebird can build a nest.

A place where a squirrel can raise its young.

A refuge for the wildlife that shares this little piece of creation with us.

Standing there, I realized my trees hadn't simply been damaged.

They had been trimmed by God.

Today, those scars have become shelter.

The broken places have become homes.

And a year after the storm, I stood beneath those same trees watching a pair of Eastern Bluebirds carrying food to what I believe is their nest.

It reminded me that restoration doesn't always mean returning something to the way it was before.

Sometimes restoration means discovering a new purpose in what was broken.

Maybe that's true of our homes.

Maybe it's true of our land.

And maybe it's true of us, too.

Whit Watson