For When We Can't See The Parallel Story In Our Lives

On Oak Trees & Contentment

There once was an old oak tree in my backyard. I couldn’t tell you when it was planted or how tall it had been, but sometimes when I’m bothered by the lack of shade or privacy, I imagine how much better everything would be back there, if only there were still that big oak tree.

Before we moved into this house, we were in a tiny, one-bedroom apartment—an Airbnb, really, generously offered by a family from our church. We needed a space to land in a very difficult place to afford; it wouldn’t be forever.

We lived there for three years, paying below-market rent, regularly throwing gallons of money at our debt, and savoring the hustle and bustle of living downtown (albeit in a remarkably small town, but still, if you squint, it might as well be the West Village!).

One winter, we were hit with a storm that flooded our parks, our freeway, our local veterinarian’s office. My husband was stuck in a three-week jury selection process for a murder trial, driving those dangerous roads by day and catching up on his missed work in the evenings. It was a horrible month, that January of 2023, as I huddled inside our barely one-bedroom, feeling frustrated and resentful. Were we going to live trapped inside this fishbowl forever?

Across town, the storm was doing its damage, beating down on that oak tree I didn’t know existed, until one night it fell—flat onto the house.

It barely missed the original fireplace, instead landing squarely on the dining room, turning a small breakfast nook into an open concept. Fortunately for the tenant, she was safely sleeping in the furthest room down the hall. Unfortunately for the tenant, the renovations took nine months, during which she found another place to live, one that had a working roof and whose living space hadn’t just been crushed to bits.

Back in our Airbnb, we jumped from our winter blues into a will-they-won’t-they process of potentially buying a small townhome, convinced that our mortgage would be lower than the abysmally high rent prices we were seeing (we were wrong). We got pregnant and imagined bringing our little boy home to something of our very own.

And then, close to the start of my third trimester, we felt like God was telling us to pause on the whole thing. I had peace, but also a sense of confusion and mild disappointment.

In my sadness, I would have never suspected that we were about to get a call from our generous Airbnb landlord, who was finishing up a long, nine-month project—An oak tree had fallen on a house! He connected us with our current (also generous) landlord, and we settled in just before the holidays.

And that’s the story of how we moved into our very first single-family home. It’s one of my favorites to tell—we don’t often have the privilege of discovering the parallel story being told in our lives, whether in the moment or in hindsight.

When I’m in the backyard watching Oliver run around and I start wishing there were still a big oak tree back there—so he’d have a swing or some shade or just a little privacy—I have to remind myself that the only reason we even live here is because that tree fell in the first place.

I didn’t know it had fallen, that a home was being rebuilt, or that a spot was opening up for us—I just knew I was tired of living in a tiny apartment and feeling like nothing would ever change.

So now, when I find myself spiraling about timelines, next steps, or searching for greener grass, I try to remember that there is another story being told, and one day I might have the whole picture. I’ll only ever know my side in real time, but all of these stories will end up woven together.

I guess that’s what a home is, after all: A story layered over a story layered over a story.

If God can use an old oak tree to solve our housing problem, perhaps I can shift my fear about the future into a faithful curiosity about what might already be in motion.

We moved into our house two Halloweens ago, and now every year it feels like a celebration of God’s provision in our lives!