Houston Devotional//Memory

And how could we endure to live and let time pass if we were always crying for one day or one year to come back—if we did not know that every day in a life fills the whole life with expectation and memory and that these are that day?
                                                                                   C.S. Lewis, Out of the Silent Planet

She watched over us for forty years, withstanding storms, hurricanes, and droughts that would uproot many trees. Her name was Mama Pine. 

Too big to wrap our arms around her, she towered over our property, providing shade for our children as they played and grew. Her magnificent trunk was a trusted hiding place, and her branches provided a home for many backyard visitors. People often commented on her grandeur, “Boy, that’s some kind of tree.”

Mama Pine stood as a living testament to the beauty and power of God’s creation. 

During her last watch, she presided over our careful preparations for our daughter’s wedding. Our youngest child had long dreamed of marrying under Mama Pine’s shadow. For months, we planned, tilled, and tended the property under her gaze, preparing for a lovely ceremony. But it was not to be.

An early-season hurricane finally took her down. She pulled away from the ground as she fell, creating a giant crater and a massive tangle of roots and stump that stood at least ten feet high. Her body left its mark. She fell across the yard, driveway, fence, gate, and finally, the basketball goal, where she’d watched over all those games of HORSE. By the grace of God, she missed the house. My son counted her rings when we finally started removing her massive form. He stopped at 100.

I am an experienced storm veteran of the Texas Gulf Coast, but this time was different. As we assessed all the damage from the hurricane that destroyed our yard, wreaked havoc on our property, and ruined our carefully laid plans, I grieved most the loss of that tree. Mama Pine’s demise represented destruction—but also something much more powerful, her presence in my memories and the awareness of the relentless passing of time. 

She watched over our children as they grew, playing in the backyard, climbing trees, celebrating birthdays, playing flashlight tag, and finally, preparing for a sacred union. In a way, her loss put a period on a passing season of life. I associated her falling with my own feelings of nostalgic loss and growing old, as I looked back down the corridor of time. 

Slowly and surely, the Lord turned my grief into thankfulness. His Spirit brought Psalm 100 to mind, and I realized I had been given a precious gift: “For the LORD is good; His lovingkindness is everlasting and His faithfulness to all generations” (Psalm 100:5, NASB95). 

Mama Pine no longer stands, but I have a treasure chest of priceless memories that remain—memories that continue to grow with a new generation of grandchildren who now play where she once stood—evidence of His everlasting loving-kindness and faithfulness to our family. 

We saved the wood from her 100-year-old frame. She’ll continue to watch over us in other forms, an ever-present testament to her Maker’s constant gaze.

Shirley Ralston (MACE, 2008) serves on the leadership team for the DTS-Houston Alumni Association. She is a writer, teacher, and pastor’s research team member at Houston’s First Baptist Church. She is also a founding member of the HFBC Missionary Care Team. Shirley and her husband, Jeff, reside in Houston after several years living in the Middle East and the South Pacific.