Tag: rootedness

by Mary Silkwood

Another box packed, suitcases piled to the side of the hallway anticipating their next trip. Totes placed carefully into storage, joining the efforts of their counterparts in another corner of the world and holding life on pause until we return.

As sojourners in a missionary lifestyle, it can often be difficult to put down roots, at least deep ones. Roots that give assurance that when you meet friends for coffee and a bit of conversation, you don’t have to wonder when your next meeting will be. The kind of assurance that you’ll see your parents at church in the same pew as always next week, because those things never change. They are part of a revolving door in the beauty of the mundane.

I often find myself living life on the edge of my seat, anticipating what direction I will go next. Where will I hang my stockings next Christmas? What kitchen will I bake my child’s next birthday cake in? At times I even wonder what bed I will sleep in tonight. I know that in an instant it can and will change, just as it has countless times before.

What seemed to be the new is now old, and you are starting all over again. At moments you question its worth. To truly settle in yet again, but at what cost? To begin making room for more roots to grow, knowing another transplant looms in the future, all the while wondering what distinguishes us in this season of time?

When you do choose to plant your trees, to give the next chapter your heart, and a chance to put down roots, you soon realize there is a particular value in it all. It will be painful to pack up and leave again, but it’s not worthless. In fact, there is a unique element that this lifestyle produces. The ache of going is worth the wide breadth of friendships, rich memories, and profound reality you gain through the process.

Our roots don’t have the chance to go as deep in one spot as for others. But there are pieces of them spread around the globe. Being transplanted into new places doesn’t permit the same depth as for others, but it certainly allows them to grow wide, wider that I ever could have imagined. And in some mysterious way that may provide a strength and resiliency that a missionary life needs.

In this lifestyle I have had to learn balance. I cannot allow myself to become so comfortable that I forget that I have a revolving door that will always force change. I can’t be in a place where I refuse to be anywhere else, because as a servant of Christ, I must be willing to go anywhere at any time.

Yet at the same time, I can’t be so quick on my feet that I don’t settle down, make a life for my family, and take the time to plant my trees. Trees take time to plant and even longer to grow. Many times I have found myself mistakenly neglecting the things that take longer in life because maybe I won’t have time to see the fruit.

Over the years, I have learned the value in planting my trees — wherever the Lord leads us. I could write a book with all the stories about the Lord’s faithfulness. This story is just one of them, of our special little mango tree.

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One Sunday afternoon within the first year that we moved to Thailand, we were watching a family movie. Suddenly our cat crept quickly to the door, and we noticed a poisonous snake slithering into a small bamboo grove in the front yard. (It is good to have a cat in Southeast Asia.) When the snake decided to make the bamboo its home, my husband had to remove the grove for the safety of our young kids and pets.

Now we had a great bare spot with nothing there, and our home was a spectacle with people being able to see right in. It may not seem like a big deal to some, but as a missionary in an Asian country you feel the constant eyes of the local people watching you. That bamboo grove had provided the little bit of privacy we needed at home. We knew we needed to get a new tree to fill the bare space. A trip to the plant market was exciting. We decided to get a mango tree so that we could enjoy the fruit in the seasons to come.

I became nervous and a bit sad thinking of buying a tree. I thought, what if we leave? We will no longer have our tree! That is our tree that we would have planted, and planting it felt like an investment that I didn’t want to lose. My husband, growing up as a missionary kid, knew the importance of making a home no matter how long you plan to stay.  “And besides,” he said, “it’s just a tree, have some fun!”

When we planted our little mango tree, not only did it grow, but our hearts began to change and grow. We became rooted again in the places right around us. It was just a few months later that we unexpectedly had to leave Thailand. We suddenly needed to move back to the States for health care for one of our kids. I began to realize how important it was that we planted that tree.

It was fun and exciting to go pick out and plant the tree as a family. To water it and begin to watch it grow. Our little mango tree was ours. It represented our family and our journey to that place at that time. It was more than just a tree to us. It showed how God had brought us there and reminded us of our adventures, both the fun and the difficult. And just like our tree, we were growing and maturing through it all. I decided then that in some way I would continue to “plant trees” each place the Lord would lead us to.

Before leaving Thailand, my husband moved our little tree to his parents’ house on the other side of the city. For a few years my father-in-law would send us pictures of it and tell about its growth. One Christmas, my son bought Grandpa a little airplane ornament, so Grandpa hung it on the tree we planted and took a picture of him and Grandma with it. That was the last email I received from my father-in-law before his passing a few months later.

Two years after we lost him, the Lord led our family back to Thailand and to the home where my in-laws had lived with our little mango tree. Staying in that home was supposed to be temporary, but with now two children with medical needs and COVID restrictions, we stayed there much longer.

We enjoyed many mango seasons eating the fruit that came from our tree. A tree that at one time we thought we might never see again, let alone taste the fruit from season after season. We watched our little tree grow right along with our children. I homeschooled under it while feeding babies. My kids climbed up in it and imagined for hours on end. They put blankets and teapots under it and invited friends to come in. Their stuffies were often found hanging in it, and yes, a few snakes tried to make their home there as well.

It was a refuge in a rainy season storm and a shady place when the hot season baked the earth. Each evening I would watch my children play around and climb up in it as I prepared dinner. For four years we lived there, and in some ways I forgot about the feelings I had before I planted the tree. My revolving door, for a moment, had given way to the beauty of the mundane.

The day came when the Lord had new plans for our family, and the chapter in that place was coming to a close. We called that place home longer than any other place we have ever lived.

A few years have now passed since we moved to Eastern Thailand. On a recent trip back to the north my husband went to our old house and discovered that the new owners had our tree removed. Our home is different, and not ours anymore, and our tree no longer there. The tree we planted is still a reminder of our journey — the journey that brought us there and led us away. Most important, however, is the time we spent planting our trees. And tree or no tree, a large part of our family’s roots can still be found there.

When we planted our lovely little mango tree, we did not just plant it to cover the home, but our hearts as well. It represents a place where growth began to take place in our lives. Now our little mango tree holds even more meaning; it’s not just a tree but a story.

It’s a story of a journey our family took to the other side of the world. It is a story of our adventures, our growth, our struggles, and our faith. It is a story of love and loss. It is a story of relationships we made and relationships we lost. That little tree holds a lot of memories, love, and life. Most importantly, it’s a story of God’s faithfulness ever present in our lives.

I hope my kids look back one day and see a life that was rooted. That their roots run deep, connecting them to people, places, and memories everywhere. That their home was a place of rest and security no matter where it was. That they have learned to plant their trees in each place, no matter how brief or long it may have been. And that they can see God’s glory and goodness in everything.

How about you? How has your family taken the time to plant your trees? It does not have to be an actual tree. It can be a variety of things that give us roots. Over the years, we have planted sunflowers, painted pictures to hang up on temporary housing walls, and raised chickens.

The year we moved to Eastern Thailand, we also went on home assignment. In that year alone we stayed in over fifty different places. Even during this time my son kept a small plant he potted in the window of our van as we traveled all around America. My children faithfully watered it each day.

Over the years our family has had over fifteen major moves. Many times there have been multiple moves within a year. Each place has provided opportunities to learn and grow, and wherever we go we take time to plant our trees.

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Mary spent her childhood in the Midwest. After meeting her MK husband at a missions conference, her life was never the same. Together they have had a life of adventure following the Lord to many places and ministries around the world. Most days you will find her in a small village in Eastern Thailand surrounded by rice paddies with a coffee in hand, homeschooling her six children. There is something always baking in her oven and a yard full of critters and kids running around. She takes delight in studying God’s word and sharing its truth with others.