Chain-Saw Chronicles

We were warned.   The utility company was sending out arborists to trim trees near the overhead electric lines up and down the streets of our town.  The word "arborist" had a gentle and nurturing ring to it, and I imagined tree lovers gently clipping off dead branches which threaten the lines in occasional windstorms.

We traveled out of town for a few days. In our absence, it appeared that the landscaping version of the Texas Chain-Saw Massacre had been filmed.  The impact of this so-called pruning left behind dismembered trees, awkward and absurd.  Our backyard neighbor's trees which helped disguise the unsightly utility poles -- and whose foliage actually protected those lines from strong winds -- were viciously hacked away.  What survived now appears to be Dr. Seuss trees on life-support.

Any tree, limb or twig within at least ten feet of the wires was brutally amputated.  From what remained, it would have been more merciful to have removed the trees entirely. Yesterday, I observed some of the men working.  Nothing was sacred.

The converted railway path where I run looks as if a tornado has spent out its rage, maiming every tree in its path with brute force.  Even last week, a variety of trees had bent their limbs lovingly over the trail, like black lace embellishing the sky.   No more.  The trees overhead have been ruthlessly scalped.  No longer a welcoming retreat, the path appears once again as just a rough strand of dirt and gravel, an unsightly abandoned right of way alongside the railroad tracks.

And I thought with sadness as I ran, there is no need to be so harsh.

With trees.  And children.  And spouses. And everyone else around us.

Yes, there are times of teaching and training, times of truth and change of direction, even times of correcting injustice. But we go at it like bulls in a china shop, leaving behind destruction and harsh words still razor sharp decades later. Years ago, I heard a young parent's paraphrase of 1 Corinthians 13.1:  "If I have perfectly obedient children, but have not love, I am only a tyrant."

Do I approach relationships and stressful situations with healing in mind?  "There is one whose rash words are like sword thrusts, but the tongue of the wise brings healing."  Proverbs 12.17

Harshness never gets the point across, but leaves a painful blight too huge to be ignored, and the "lesson" is somehow lost in the fray.  As I run, the wounded trees remind me of what harshness can do, the ugliness that remains, and words that I regret.

I often think about two of our girls' teachers years ago who employed what I called "velvet over steel."  One taught first-graders, the other directed 400 junior high choir students.  These rare women achieved great order in their classrooms without raised voices, or crushed spirits, or empty threats.  Kindness prevailed.  And indeed, the children obeyed willingly and felt greatly loved.  Firm but loving.

Do my words leave behind encouragement or devastation?  Isn't there a more gracious way to say that?
And no reason at all to be so harsh.
 
Let your gentleness be evident to all.

                               Philipians 4. 5


But You, O LORD, are a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.

                                       Psalm 86.15