Three Trees Stood in a Forest

by Richard McCormack

  I Could Have Been Somebody

  Time passed and the trees grew. The seasons came and they went, and the three little trees continued to grow. Finally, the time came when a lumberjack came walking through the forest looking at the three trees. He looked up at the first tree and said, “My, you are a straight and strong tree. I believe you will make a wonderful bed. A bed made for only royalty to sleep on,” The lumberjack then took his ax and chopped down the tree. The first tree was elated as the lumberjack tied a rope around him and hauled him off to the sawmill.

  “Goodby,” said the second and third tree. “ We are so happy you are going to be a bed.”

  “Yes, isn’t it wonderful, I am finally going to get my wish.”

  Over the hills and down the river the lumberjack hauled the tree until finally they arrived at the sawmill outside a large city. The lumberjack took his ropes off the tree and went in to talk to the carpenter.

  “I believe this will make a wonderful bed.” said the lumberjack. “It is straight and clean, without any knots.”

  The carpenter looked at the tree and nodded his head. “Yes, I believe you are right. This will make a fine bed for a king.” So the carpenter took the tree into the sawmill and started cutting it into planks to make the bed. He measured carefully wanting no mistakes. Slowly he cut the tree taking every precaution. He knew this was going to be his greatest work. A bed fit only for a king.

  As the carpenter was almost finished cutting his planks for the bed a servant boy of one of his best clients came running into the shop wanting to speak to the carpenter.

  “Mr. Carpenter, Mr. Carpenter,” said the servant boy. “My master has sent me with urgent business.”

  “Yes, yes, what is the urgent business?” the carpenter said.

  “My master has just received word an old friend of his is coming today, and he is bringing his entire family.”

  “That is good,” the carpenter said.

  “Yes, that is good, but my master does not have enough troughs to feed and water the horses that the family is bringing. He has sent me here to ask you to build a trough big enough to feed his friend’s horses,” the servant said. “My master said he will pay whatever you ask, but he needs it today.”

  “Okay, tell your master he will have his trough by the end of the day,” the carpenter said.

  “Thank you, my master will be very pleased.” The servant then ran out of the shop to return to his master.

  “Now let me see, what do I have to make the trough.” the carpenter looked around the shop but could not find any planks that were straight enough and strong enough for a trough. Then he looked at the planks he had just cut. “Oh, how I would hate to lose these planks for a trough, but the master will pay a dear price that will be worth the loss.”

  “No!” the first tree cried. “Don’t use me for a horse trough, I was going to be a beautiful bed that kings and queens would sleep in. I was going to be something of grandeur and beauty that was only made for royalty,” the tree begins to weep. “I could have been something. I could have been something...”

  Years passed and the first tree found himself outside the house in the corner of a pin reduced to nothing more than a feeding trough. The tree lingered on day and night in sunshine and rain, cold and heat, fulfilling the purpose the carpenter created him for—a trough. He remembers the incident and understands life happens. Things never turn out like one dreams.

  Donkeys and goats feed out of him. Customers on long journeys drop off camels and horses to feed from him. Years of mistreatment have been his constant reminder that his dreams were nothing more then hollowed hopes and shallow promises. The stains from hay and grain that has penetrated his existence is the perpetual monitor that his future is set. And, if you listen close one can hear the mumbling, “I could have been something.”

  Time passes, and one day as the tree is standing in the pen, minding his own business, a servant brings oats for the donkey. Nothing unusual. The donkey then kicks up a ruckus and soon the tree, now a trough, is trampled under hoof. Sure, the servant returns and repairs the trough, but the damage is done, it is not the same. The tree is not the majestic bed he had hoped to be. The bed he had dreamed of becoming is now only an abused scarred feeding manger. And, if you listen closely, you can hear the mumblings’ of a broken heart, “I could have been something. I could have been something.”

  Winter turns to spring and the trough is once again taken outdoors to feed the cattle and sheep. He doesn’t think much about the crowd as soon people start gathering at the master’s inn. It begins slowly, at first, with one or two people a day, but quickly the tree sees hundreds of people passing by. For once the camels and the donkey had been right. They talked amongst themselves and said there was going to be an influx of people. They did not know why, they just knew things were getting busy. More hay was put in the stalls, and the number of animals which ate from the trough became greater. The tree became use to animals slobbering and chomping above him, but this was too much. Even a trough has feelings! Sometimes the camels would miss the middle of the trough and take a bite or a chunk out of his sideboards.

  Stupid camels!

  He wished he could yell, “Stop that! Leave me alone.” But it is always to no avail. They never listen. The tree, now a trough, resolves himself to the fact that he was destined to be a nobody.

  Spring showers turn to thunderstorms and the rain gets stronger. A chilling breeze blows in over the hill as the night comes. The servant thought it best to feed outside, so once again, the tree is left out in the rain during a commonly cold spring night.

  Soon the rain passes and the sky clears. The tree looks up to heaven and sees the wonders of God. He reflects back on the nights in the forest with his tree brothers and how the three of them would look up to the stars. The tree thinks that things at night are much calmer: travelers find rest in the inn, animals stop their crying, baying, or whatever they do, and children settle down for the night. Another day has passed; tomorrow will be just as busy— as if today wasn’t busy enough.

  What an existence.

  What a life!

  The tree, which became a trough, looks out and sees the master coming from the house. All day long he has run people off from his inn because he has no room. But now he rushes towards the stable with a man and a woman in tow.

  “Who is this man?” the tree wonders. “And what about that woman? She is so . . . pregnant! Someone needs to help her!” The tree watches as they move toward the pins and then into the stables. “Why would they go in there? She is so pregnant!”

  The tree observes the scene as the master’s wife runs out of the house and into the stable. He then overhears the conversation between them and the words from the master.

  “Where do you want me to put them?” the master says to his wife. “I have no more room in the inn.” The look on the master’s wife’s face says it all, she is not happy.

  “But the stable,” she says, “it’s no place to have a baby. At least try to make a bed for the baby. I will bring some swaddling cloth. You make a bed for the baby.”

  “With what?” the master replies.

  “Find something!” she says walking towards the inn.

  The master looks around and sees nothing that can be used as a bed to hold a baby. In and out of the stable he hurries looking anxiously for a solution. Then He spots the trough, and says to himself, “It will have to. I will fill it with hay, a horse blanket, and put another blanket on top. It will just have to do.”

  “What? Now I am a baby’s cradle!” the tree says. “Well at least I am not outside in the cold. At least I am not a trough for a night.”

  The tree watches as the master’s wife runs out of the inn bringing water and swaddling cloth for the birth of the child. But things are different. The anguish of the woman is different. There is no yelling out, no gasping. It’s kind of tranquil, calm, and peaceful.

  “Oh, that is such a beautiful baby!” the tree says to hims
elf. “He is so beautiful, so majestic, so regal. Almost like royalty. To finally be uses as a bed, and for such a wonderful moment.”

  “Great, here comes more shepherds!” the tree says in discuss as he watches a group of shepherds, who have been out feeding their flock. “Of course they’re going to want to feed their sheep. There goes the end of a beautiful night. The master will soon be in and take this child from me and I will be loathed to feeding sheep for the night.”

  “What are they doing?” the tree asks.

  The shepherds kneel before the baby, humbly and reverently.

  “What is that they’re saying?

  “Angels appeared to them where?”

  “A whole host of angels singing from heaven?”

  “Saying that a child, the Messiah, was born today?”

  “Here!”

  “Could it be?”

  “Could this be the Child?”

  “Could this be the King of all the universe?”