We Are All Pine Trees
I've enjoyed a few business trips lately, which give me opportunity to catch up on my reading. This last week I read Malcolm Gladwell's David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and The Art of Battling Giants. It's worth reading even though in some chapters his research is spotty and his examples not as well connected as they could have been.
Toward the end of the book he recounts the story of Andre Trocme, a Huguenot pastor during the second world war. He lived in the small town of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon in south-central France. The plot of this story is that Trocme brazenly sheltered Jews from the Nazis. At one point Trocme and the town presented a letter to the Vichy Minster who attempted to create HItler Youth camps in their town. The last sentence of the letter read, "We have Jews. You're not getting them."
Gladwell asks what made this man so determined and so courageous. He suggests it was that Trocme lost his mother at a very young age in a tragic car accicdent and nothing in his life could ever be worse. Trocme's journal reads:
"If I have sinned so much, if I have been, since then, so solitary, if my soul has taken such a swirling and solitary movement, if I have doubted everything, if I have been a fatalist, and have been a pessimistic child who awaits death every day, and who almost seeks it out, if I have opened myself slowly and late to happiness, and if I am still a somber man, incapable of laughing whole-heartedly, it is because you left me that June 24th upon that road.
But if I have believed in eternal realities . . . if I have thrust myself toward them, it is also because I was alone, because you were no longer there to be my God, to fill my heart with your abundant and dominating life."
Tragically, after the war, when Trocme's life seemed to be moving toward a quiet sunset, his son committed suicide. Trocme wrote later in his journal:
"Even today I carry a death within myself, the death of my son, and I am like a decapitated pine. Pine trees do not regenerate their tops. They stay twisted, crippled."
And then the most meaningful line:
"They grow in thickness, perhaps, and that is what I am doing."
Whatever your own personal tragedy, know that you, too, are growing in thickness, to be strong. And you are not alone.