Twenty years before, you would have noticed a simple farmhouse with a large picture window overlooking the fields.  Now all that remains is a blackened trunk sprouting unruly branches–the memorial of a family heritage, a symbol of struggle, and the testimony of living triumphantly.
That scarred tree stands next to a gaping hole, marking the place of my childhood home–a place I loved.  I remember a quaint, welcoming home with a picture window that invited the morning sunrise in every day.  Green grass, fed by the nearby creek, wrapped around the house and a stand of Russian olive trees waved in the background.
But one starry December evening, my childhood home was swallowed by angry flames.  Only the tree remained.
While the antiquated electrical system may have been at fault, I often wonder.  You see, our home was also a place of fear and dysfunction, rage and drunkenness, threats and retribution.  My mother, brother, and I were always at risk.  Then…I told.  Was the truth too difficult to bear?  Did the remorse result in the physical purging of guilty reminders?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.
But the blackened tree still stands–bravely pointing upward, bearing the wounds of its past, and determined to live the life it was meant to.
Friend, what scarred trees are there in your life that serve as reminders of personal struggle as well as His goodness and grace?