The carpenter we hired to help us restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his beat-up pickup truck refused to start.
While we drove him home, he sat in stony silence.
On arriving, he invited us in to meet his family.
As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.
When he opened the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face is a wreath in smiles as he hugs his two small children and kisses his wife.
Afterward, he walks us to the car. We pass the tree, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
“Oh, that’s my trouble tree,” he replied.” I know I can’t help having troubles on the job and in life, but one thing’s for sure, problems don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I hang them on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning, I pick them up again.”
He paused. “Funny thing is,” he smiled, “When I come out in the morning to pick ’em up, there ain’t nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before.” ©anonymous
2021©Isadora DeLaVega
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