The Tale of The Three Trees

Being Christmas time, I thought it would be rather fitting to post this short story. It is a different twist on the Christmas story and it is actually a children's book, but it still tells of Christ's great love that he showed us by dying on the cross!
This particular version is retold by Angela Elwell Hunt.

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The Tale of The Three Trees

Retold by Angela Elwell Hunt

Once upon a mountaintop, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up. 

The first little tree looked up at the starts twinkling like diamonds above him.

"I want to hold treasure," he said. "I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I will be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!"

The second little tree looked out at the small stream trickling by on its way to the ocean.

"I want to be a strong sailing ship," he said. "I want to travel mighty waters and carry powerful kings. I will be the strongest ship in the world!"

The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women worked in a busy town. "I don't want to leave this mountaintop at all," she said. "I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me they will raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world!"

Years passed. The rains came, the sun shone, and the little trees grew tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain.

The first woodcutter looked at the first tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining axe, the first tree fell. "Now I shall be made into a beautiful chest," thought the first tree. "I shall hold wonderful treasure."

The second woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, "This tree is strong. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining axe, the second tree fell. "Now I shall sail mighty waters," thought the second tree. "I shall be a strong ship fit for kings!"

The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looked her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter never even looked up. "Any kind of tree will do for me," he muttered. With a swoop of his shining axe, the third tree fell. 

The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought him to a carpenter's shop, but the busy carpenter was not thinking about treasure chests. Instead his work-worn hands fashioned the tree into a feed box for animals. The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold or filled with treasure. He was coated with sawdust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals.

The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took him to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing ships were being made that day. Instead the once-strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. Too small and too weak to sail an ocean or even a river, he was taken to a little lake. Everyday he brought in loads of dead, smelly fish.

The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard. "What happened?" the once tall tree wondered. All I ever wanted to do was stay on the mountaintop and point to God."

Many, many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feedbox. "I wish I could make a cradle for him," her husband whispered. 

The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and sturdy wood. "This manger is beautiful" she said.

And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the old fishing boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out into the lake. Soon a thrashing storm arose. The little tree shuddered. He knew he did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through the wind and rain. The tired man awoke. He stood up, stretched out his hand, and said, "Peace." The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun.

And suddenly the second tree knew he was carrying the King of heaven and earth!

One Friday morning the third tree was startled when her beams were yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry, jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man's hands to her. She felt ugly and harsh and cruel.

But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy beneath her, the third tree knew that God's love had changed everything. 

He had made the first tree beautiful.

He had made the second tree strong.

And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God.

And that was better than being the tallest tree in the world.

Merry Christmas, Friends!

'Hide It All' By Guest Author Rachael

Here is an amazing story written by a friend and fellow writer, Rachael. [Check out her blog, Rachael's Notes.] Enjoy! 

"To sit there and pretend that nothing was wrong would have been lying, and I had been taught to never lie. But, however I tried, I found it was easier to conceal my feelings than to show them. I tried to reveal my anger by spitting out a snide remark (in a conversation which wasn't even mine) but as soon as my little mouth opened I shut it again, unable to make any sound come out. It was all in my head; and as I sat there staring at my hands, smiling occasionally if I thought someone might happen to look at me, I realised how my cheeks were burning - they almost hurt from the heat. Should a hand touch them its fingers would have been singed, I was sure of it. But the socialising people around me, even my friends didn't seem to notice anything was wrong; I was a quiet person, but to sit looking as if I was bored stiff might look a little too obvious. So I looked up from my entwined fingers and scanned the room, moving my head slightly to look at the people on either side of me, or the ones at the far end of the room. Everyone seemed to be so engaged in their conversations that it was no wonder none of them had come to sit with me. My older sister Neodasha was surrounded by more than two people, as the case usually was and no wonder - she was so pretty; she had doll features and the way she applied her makeup! Well, you would have had to see her to believe just how  how unhuman she really looked. But she wasn't only a pretty girl - she had brains. A good deal of them too. Most of the words she used talking to me went right over my head, so you can imagine how learned she sounded talking to her equals. Watching her animated discussion take place wasn't enough to cheer me, so I kept observing the other small circles hoping perhaps there would be something to totally take over my mind. Ugh, there was that hideous man who manipulated pretty much every person he spoke to. He was tall, but short at the same time ( I wasn't sure how that could work, but it certainly seemed to in his case) and his mass of reddish brown hair had, again, been style with his boof, but, according to me, he had never succeeded. And if that wasn't enough to creep you out, his name was Boris, which was an unfortunate choice from his parents because it means 'fame'. I can't help to, but I do prefer not to dwell on this person. So my eyes roamed once again and rested on a young man who was, well.... rather attractive. His hair was quite the opposite to poor Boris'; it was neatly styled, and a length, volume and colour that I really liked the look of. Every time I looked at Aleksey  my eyes doubled their size, as if they couldn't take all of him in unless they were a certain, which wasn't true. I was training them to behave in his presence. I had only known Aleksey for three years, yet in that time we hadn't had more than a ten minute conversation.
When I took in these few things I had glued my artificial smile to my face, just to be sure that if I was looked at they might not think I was not enjoying myself. If Boris wasn't leaning against the door frame I wouldn't have been sitting there still, but I reasoned with myself that to sit and be bored was better than to walk so close underneath Boris. Not interested enough to take in anyone else in the room individually, I occupied myself again by staring with apparent awe at my fingers, which were now fidgeting nervously amongst themselves. I couldn't stand the hot buzzing room any longer. Boris would have to do. I stood up and straightened my skirt. I took a deep breath to stop my eyes from filling and held up my head. Maybe I was looking a little too obvious in hiding being upset. Easing slightly, I dodged around the scattered chairs, some of which were occupied by chatterers. Holding my hands placidly in front of me and walking a little tentatively, I crossed over to the door. Boris stopped mid word and looked at me with such deliberation that I felt even more uneasy and thought, where do I look? The door handle seemed the safest place. Looking at it I said, "Do you think I might be able to get out?" I looked up at him and he didn't seem to have blinked; without moving his eyes off my face his hand came out of his jeans pocket and encased the handle.  He heaved himself off the door frame and opened the door as slowly as possible. I raised my eyebrows (as I always did when I wanted to emphasise my feelings) and said "thanks"; without waiting for the door to open fully I squeezed through and shut it behind me."