Hello friends, last year, Tony and I went to California for vacation (remember traveling?), and I learned something about change in the Redwood forest of all places. Then, of course I wrote about it. It felt like such an important lesson for me that I thought I’d re-share with you for a part of this month’s series on Change. Enjoy!

Other than the sound of gravel crunching beneath our hiking shoes, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you hesitant to speak. And when you do, it makes you whisper.

All around us giant redwood trees towered above our heads. Tony and I were in California. But rather than visiting Muir Woods, we settled for Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve. Longer to say, but not as overrun with tourists, as our online research had told us. And as it was early on a Sunday morning,

All was still.

There wasn’t even a breeze moving through the trees. The sound of our footsteps accompanied us down the Pioneer Nature Trail. And though before hand, I had wondered how impressive a bunch of trees could be, I was in awe.

At one point on the trail, it had the stump of a dead redwood cut, and put on its side so you could see all its rings. Each ring spoke to the age of the tree. And each had a marker stating what was happening in History when the tree had earned that ring. The markers read:

“1861 American Civil War”

“1776 Declaration of Independence”

… “1530 Copernicus teaches that the planets orbit the sun.”

… “1300 Aztec Civilization Mexico”

Until finally, in the center a marker read: “948 Germination of this tree.”

It’s hard not to feel humbled in a forest of redwoods. To stand in front of an equally as large tree as that stump—only it’s still very much a live—and get the sense that your place in this world is not as prominent as you thought. Yet as if this wasn’t enough for me to take in, the redwoods were about to teach me something more.

All along the trail, Tony and I noticed groupings of redwoods. Almost like kids standing in their friend groups on the playground, scattered throughout the forest were rings of redwoods. Clusters of six to eight trees standing in almost perfect circles.

Finally, I came across a plaque that explained that these are known as Fairy Rings. It told us that if we looked closer we could see the stump of a parent tree in the middle of each circle. When a redwood is damaged by human activity, or by natural causes such as wind or fire, it sends out sprouts around its stump for new trees to be born.

Each circle of trees was the work of a now dead tree.

Near the plaque stood an impressive Fair Ring. But rather than look at the healthy circle of trees, I couldn’t help but focus on the remains of the stump in the middle. Because, how many of us have stumps in our lives? Places where a dream, relationship, job, or creation of ours once loomed large, but life has since cut down.

I couldn’t help but focus on the remains of the stump in the middle. Because, how many of us have stumps in our lives?

Very often, when a cherished part of our life ends or is damaged, it feels like all hope is lost. Sometimes, it even feels like our world is ending. But in that forest, these redwoods are telling a different story.

The plaque went on to say that this is the most prolific way for a redwood to reproduce. That though, they produce millions of seeds every year, germination is not as successful as when a damaged parent tree sends out its sprouts. Sometimes, big and wonderful things in our lives must face damage for us to give birth to even more beautiful things.

Sometimes, big and wonderful things in our lives must face damage for us to give birth to even more beautiful things.

If I am honest, there is stump in my life that I keep circling. One, that has felt senseless. One, I have been praying about this summer, and asking God for the thousandth time, “Why? What’s the point of this?” But as I walked through the forest that day, in the quiet, it felt like He was telling me it is time to stop focusing on the stump. It is time to look for the life sprouting up around it.

It is time to stop focusing on the stump. It is time to look for the life sprouting up around it.

Friend, if you have a stump in your life that feels hopeless and senseless, might I encourage you to try and look for the bigger story? Would you join me in looking for the new life that may be sprouting? The new life, that wouldn’t have come otherwise.

Where do you have a stump in your life?

Where is there growth coming from its death?

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