The Venerable Old Cedar

If any of Eden remains, it can be found in the western quadrant of the Smoky Mountains somewhere along the hiking trails that hover above a place that goes by the name of Cades Cove.  As a child my family would make the trek up to the Smokies every other year or so, and the high point of every trip was a ride around the Cades Cove loop.

The loop is an eleven mile long ribbon of single lane blacktop which follows the boundaries of this magical place filled with wildlife unafraid of humans and fields filled with wildflowers unnumbered. The beauty of the place is breathtaking and a drive around the loop will leave the passerby filled with inexpressible awe at the loveliness produced by our Creator’s hand; but if the peace of Cades Cove is to be found, one must rise above. If a quiet soul is what you seek, then you have to take a hike.

As you ascend the northern slopes of the mountains surrounding the Cove and gaze down onto the fields of bachelor buttons and sour weed, then look up and out beyond the poplar and pine windbreaks that trace their ordered way across the fields; the distant mountains appear dreamlike through the ever-present mist. When you reach the place where the mountains begin to melt into the clouds, the white noise of life slowly fades away until nothing but the frantic sound of your heart beating, the rustling of the leaves above and the still small voice of God comes to your ear. It is then that the peace of Eden can be found. For me at least, a hike through the Smoky Mountains is a quiet walk hand in hand with my Lord in cool of the evening.

Yes, if any of Eden remains, it can be found along the hiking trails above Cades Cove.

My mom, Bobbe Jean by name, loved this place more than just about anywhere else in the world, save the back roads and black waterways of the Florida panhandle, her home. The otherworldly wildness of the place seemed to fan an ancient fire within her Native American roots that simply smoldered at other times. Her emerald green eyes would dance with excitement, and her voice would take on a lilting quality as she told us kids of the history of the place. You couldn’t help but fall in love with the Cove when mom spoke of it, for her love was contagious.    

Mom did have one strange peculiarity when it came to this place. Like a mother with a favored child among many, she loved one particular tree in the cove over and above all others. It was a massive cedar standing alone and proud in a field on the northernmost border.

The tree had a presence about it that drew your eye and a quiet solitude that threatened melancholy if you looked upon it too long, not unlike my mother in many ways. There was a connection there, mystical and mysterious.

Just before her death, mom asked me to take some of her ashes and place them at the base of that tree. So on the summer after her passing I did just that. Veering off the trail, I stealthily made my way through the field in which that tree stood until I was beneath that venerable old cedar. Mom’s law and order child breaking the rules to fulfill her final wish. I bet she wondered if I would do it; but love compelled me on, only to discover her final wish was for me.

As I turned up and tapped the bottom of that old Ball Mason jar, a fitting container for a country girl, the continuity of life became clear to me. My Native American roots found voice, and somewhere within my spirit the mystical harmony of life and death and earth and Heaven softly soothed my soul, and I was finally at peace with mom’s passing.

My Lord promised her eternal life. I knew she was at peace and content, and I was okay.
 
Epilogue
 
My Dad passed away several years after mom, and being a romantic at heart, I decided to place a portion of his ashes beneath that same old tree. So later that summer, in the midst of a rain storm, I retraced my steps and found myself beneath that old cedar once again. Sheltered from the rain by the outstretched limbs, I turned up and tapped the bottom of the little ornate urn, a proper container for a city boy, and mom and dad were reunited once again.

My folks loved each other passionately and with passion comes fire, but little did I know how enduring that fire could be.

I returned to Cades Cove the very next summer to rekindle my memories and to find the peace, once again, that I had allowed to fade. My heart longed for that tree somehow; it had come to represent my folks, their relationship and their love to me.

As Mary and I followed the loop, my anticipation grew. After what seemed like ages, I could at last see the afternoon sunlight slanting across the blacktop indicating that the meadow was just up ahead.

Mary was the first to see it and she fell silent, wondering no doubt what my reaction would be. As I recall, through my astonished haze, a laugh, a deep and satisfying belly laugh, rumbled up and out of me for all the world to hear.

You see, between the time of the reuniting of mom and dad and my return; a well placed streak of lightening had split that tree in equal halves and burned it to the ground. “Blew it to smithereens,” as mom would say. I have to admit though, that the smoldering remains were a fitting testimony to a wonderful couple with a fiery relationship and fierce love.   

I returned just a few months ago to the cove and took note of the stump. It has been years, but life remains. There was a hint of green and the beginning of a new venerable old cedar for future generations to admire.

I often wonder why the Lord draws certain memories out of me; why He wants certain things to remain between Him and me and why He wants others told. Well, this time I think I may have an inkling.

The world is in turmoil. Every day it seems that a new horror awaits us, and it fills us with dread and fear. Stability, it appears, is a thing of the past, and now even our beloved denomination has joined in the fray. The goings on as of late have left many of us concerned as to what direction things may take. The security of like minds and like spirits has vanished it seems leaving many afraid and unsure.

When I recall that old stump, I remember a majestic tree standing sentinel for decades. Countless storms assailed it. Winters too many to count burdened its limbs with snow. Untold birds raised their young and sent them soaring from its branches while other creatures sought the shelter and coolness of its shade.

Then in an instant it was gone, through happenstance or providence we will never know; but take heart for from the smoldering remains, new life emerged. Life cannot be defeated. Life will always find a way.

So take heart!

Matt 16:18
18 And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.
 
Love Pastor Tony

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