The Small Tree
I hired a plumber to help me restore an old farmhouse, and after he had just finished a rough
first day on the job: a flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric drill quit and his
ancient one ton truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in
stony silence.
On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he
paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.
When opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was
wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of
me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
"Oh, that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but
one thing's for sure, those troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children.
So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home and ask
God to take care of them. Then in the morning I pick them up again."
"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there aren't
nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
