Ice Storm

The ice storm came through Nashville seven weeks ago. Limbs snapped and cracked and slashed. Most plummeted to the ground wreaking havoc on anything below–power lines, roofs, cars, whatever happened to be nearby. Collateral damage. The fallout occurred and cleanup ensued. As a city, we knew what to address by what caused the most evident damage.

However, after the ice melted, I drove around the city surveying the large-scale loss. I was saddened by the trees so obviously missing substantial branches. But upon closer look, I grew worried by what remained. Not all that snapped reached the ground. There are countless broken limbs that are fully detached from their trunks, but merely held in suspense by the sturdier branches below them. They haven’t fallen, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. A few windy days and those broken branches will Plinko™️ their way down to surprise anything between them and the ground.

Traumatic Storms and Emotional Wounds

I can’t help but see the metaphor of our traumatic storms and emotional wounds. Trauma causes emotional fallout. We see the most obvious impacts right away, and try to “clean up” what feels most pressing. But sometimes we completely miss (or ignore) the emotional wounds still teetering over our heads. They haven’t fallen, so we think we’re safe. But all that’s suspending our wounds are the coping mechanisms that caught them. They’re holding them at bay, but they’re not fixing them. The sturdier branches below (our coping mechanisms) aren’t reattaching the broken limbs to the trunk. They’re simply slowing the fall.

And in the meantime, those broken limbs still appear as a useful part of the tree. Birds may perch upon them. New leaves may bud on the limbs around them, camouflaging the wounds. But they have not been healed or addressed.

Proactive Pruning

Weather still happens and gravity still exists. It’s inevitable. Those wounded limbs will tumble. Best-case scenario, they make their way down with no obstacles and no innocent bystanders taking collateral damage. But worst-case scenario, that wound takes out someone we love. Far better would be to climb that tree and prune those wounded limbs proactively, to avoid the fallout and lighten the burden of the healthy limbs trying to hold up the damage. That’s not their job, after all. Their job is to grow. To expand. To create shade for another without risk of inflicting pain in the process. But we can only offer the true safety of our shade if we’ve properly tended to every branch of our being.

Happy pruning!