July’s heat and humidity is rough on a chainsaw, but a massive oak tree left me little choice. Before its unexpected fall, the regal tree stood proud and tall. Half still does.

Decades ago the trunk forked into two branches about eight feet up. One branch remains staunchly erect and looks unaffected if approached from the east. Its western face however, is hideously scarred. Time will tell if the tree gets well.

According to an online source, a trunk with two branches of similar size is called a bifurcation. That’s probably accurate but that word makes me a tad nervous. I thought bifurcation was something Baptists avoided or at least pretended to.  

To my untrained eye the oak had looked fine. Now it’s obvious a weak spot was hiding in its core, an imperfection which eventually surfaced. There are several lessons the split might suggest.

In Matthew 12:25 Jesus said, “Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand.” I suppose a divided tree could be added to the list.

I read that two scenarios are typical when a tree has a low divide. Sometimes the grain orientation at the fork interlocks and provides good support for both branches. At other times a malformation results in a higher risk of failure.   

The fallen half is about more than my little chainsaw can handle, so I may leave the large base where it lies. With a little trimming it could become a multi-purpose bench, one end for pondering, the other for piddling, with the middle for praying. Maybe that’s a second lesson. Even in a fallen state redemption allows usefulness.

Hefty limbs were blocking the way to a picnic area our family enjoys. That’s why some of the sawing wasn’t delayed until cooler days. After a week of cutting and hauling the path was cleared. The next step was to remove several large limbs that were keeping the huge branch precariously supported.

Over four feet of clearance was between the bottom of the split trunk and the ground. If it had collapsed, anything beneath would have been crushed. I explained the danger to Harriet, the blue heeler, but sometimes she doesn’t pay attention.

Two nearly-equal branches of the ancient oak apparently weren’t fully bonded. The half left standing may survive or even thrive, but it’s not as impressive as before the divide. Perhaps that’s a lesson for other areas – couples, churches, countries, or whatever else we name. Divides are sometimes necessary, but severance is painful and scars long lasting.  

A final lesson from that tree is to be careful making judgements based on what we see. A forester could have examined it and probably recognized a flaw within. Malformations, however, are not always easily detected nor remedied. Or if considered from another angle, potential is not always apparent. 1 Samuel 16:7 says, “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

Samuel had been sent to anoint a king that God would reveal to him, a child of a man named Jesse who had eight male children. Seven of Jesse’s sons were introduced to Samuel. He was impressed with the eldest and probably the six that followed, but God had other plans. The eighth and youngest son, David, seemed an unlikely king, but he had the only vote that mattered.

It can go either way. We can embrace what looks ideal without understanding it’s seriously flawed. Or we can dismiss what’s lacking in appeal, unaware of its potential. An outside focus tends to neglect inside value. 

There may be other lessons from that tree, but that’s enough rambling for today. I’ll close with a word of caution on a couple of things.

First, I don’t know much about trees except what I read, so please don’t rely on Joiner’s Corner for forestry advice. And secondly, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard a sermon on bifurcation, so be careful about using that word in polite conversation. I could be confused, but I think we’re supposed to be against it, or at least pretend to be.