The Resting Tree - Chapter 1: Young Martha

It started with one...

Young Martha; a wife, a mother, and a servant of God came wearily to The Resting Tree. She brought with her in tow her 10-month-old son, little Schuyler, her youngest born. He was a slim little fellow. A bit wore down and greened around the gills.

Martha was strong, as any woman would be after birthing five sons, but as she looked into her baby’s weary eyes, every ounce of strength she had was drained out of her. And all she wished in the world was for little Schuyler to grow stronger.

She had paced the floors, she had gone to healing services, she had dove into the Word as much as she could do, and she stayed up half the night praying over her ill little boy to no avail. And sometimes, that’s just the way life is, Young Martha knew that. It never shook her faith, but she felt this tug that there was more she could do.

She knew where she had to go. It was a place she had visited many times throughout her growing up but had become a stranger over these past years. It was a place that brought rest like no other.

The Resting Tree sat on top of a hill that was notorious for hosting the most brilliant sunsets, just as it was doing this very evening. Young Martha made her way to the tree's large trunk and touched it for a moment; admiring its strength, its solidarity, and all it offered to the world. She then looked down at her little Schuyler who lie still in her arms. His eyes were sunken as he labored to breathe.

Young Martha sat down with her back against the large tree and looked up farther into its complex array of branches. She thought how much she wanted little Schuyler to be like this tree. Strong and solid, with many branches to reach out to the world. She thought this, and then she prayed it. If God would only let him grow.

As she prayed, she realized how beautiful her life had been. She thought back on her happy childhood, her wild youth, and her happy marriage and beautiful family. Oh, how she wanted this for little Schuyler. More than anything. Her heart ached as she held her son tighter and tears flooded down her face.

Precious Father, she pleaded, feeling remarkably brave, I have lived. My life has been beautiful and I have served. I am a mature Christian and I know something tragic must happen, it is in Your plan. But must it happen to my little Schuyler? Lord, what about me? If you want another angel in your Kingdom, then why not me?

Young Martha was now sobbing out of desperation for the life of her son, coming to terms with the fact that the boy certainly would die.

I’ve served faithfully and I am content with my life and how I’ve lived. Lord, if someone must die, take me. Father God, I plead it to You. Allow my little Schuyler to live here, among his brothers and his father. Let him live life as I have. They will all do without me. Charles is a strong man. The boys will be fine. Let it be me, Father!

Just then, a fierce wind came upon them. It was a wind that almost felt as if it were taking your breath away when it hit you.

Young Martha, a bit disoriented after the wind had stopped, looked around to see the sun setting in beautiful colors of bright orange and pink. It seemed to light up the entire world. She felt little Schuyler stir in her arms. She looked down and saw the boy breathing a bit more easily and his lips, which were getting a little blue last she had checked, were becoming a rosy pink.

She yelled out in joy, yes, Father, yes! Now tears of joy were flowing onto her baby’s face. Yes, Lord, take me! Take my strength and give it to him. All he needs of it, Lord.

For a moment, Young Martha sat in a blissful state as she listened to that beautiful sound of her little Schuyler breathing clearly. And then a sad thought came to her mind.

Lord, he won’t remember me. My Father, you are the God of miracles, You’ve proven that over and over and continue to do so. I ask you for one more before this is all over. Please let little Schuyler remember me. Help him remember my voice and help his heart to be filled with the same love for You that I have. Please, Father, that is my final wish.

2 months later...

Every day since their visit to The Resting Tree, it became noticeable that as little Schuyler grew stronger, Young Martha grew weaker. She never spoke a word to anyone about her conversation with God at the tree, except for answering one question to her husband, Charles, when she returned home that evening about what had happened.

“God has healed him, Charles. You needn’t worry. All will be fine.”

It was never known if Charles or the four other sons noticed the obvious change in strength from Young Martha to little Schuyler. Perhaps they thought it a coincidence that one was stronger and the other growing weaker probably from a common illness. Whether or not they understood it, Young Martha did and she liked to think little Schuyler did too.

Young Martha lived out those months delighting in her decline, for as she declined, little Schuyler rose up. As she began to lose her appetite, the boy began eating like never before. As she found herself unable to stand, the boy’s balance became nearly perfect. As she lost the use of her hands, the boy began to use his to discover the world around him. As she was taken to bed, no longer able to walk, the boy not only started to walk but he ran. As Young Martha’s eyes grew tired, little Schuyler’s eyes were opened, not in the physical sense, but in the blessed spiritual sense.

Two days before little Schuyler’s first birthday, they all knew that the time had come. Charles and the five boys stood around Young Martha’s bed, all saying their goodbyes. Little Schuyler placed his now little chubby hand on his mother’s and his curious little eyes mapped her face as if he was taking in every detail. Young Martha gave the boy a smile and drew up all the energy she had left in her soul, “Thank You, God.” And with that, Young Martha was no more.

They took her body to The Resting Tree and buried her there. It was only appropriate to take her to the only place on earth where she could experience real rest, away from the worries of the world.

Charles and the five boys laid flowers on Young Martha’s grave. A fierce wind blew through The Resting Tree and somehow, little Schuyler, young as he was, knew his mother had gotten her wings.

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