The D`Arcy Oak
By Hal Haralson, Attorney
Austin, Texas
I cut the walking trail below our house west of Austin, Texas, with a chain saw 25 years ago. It moves under six varieties of oaks, native elms, and far too many cedars. I walk around the trail four times each morning. It takes an hour.
Recently I discovered a huge Spanish oak about 50 yards off the trail. The woods are so thick that I had not noticed it before. The tree rises 70 feet above the forest floor. Spanish oaks usually have multiple trunks. This one had four. Its branches shaded an area over 100 feet in diameter.
There were cedars that would have to be cut. Stumps and dead branches would have to be removed. When this was done there would be an area where one could sit and pray/meditate/write or read. Even the cars at the house could not be heard. It would be a place of solitude.
As I cleared the area I realized that another huge trunk had been ripped from the oak years ago-probably during a rainstorm. The trunk was lodged between two other trunks 30 feet above the ground. It was huge! The branches extended to the ground some 40 feet from the main trunk.
I started to cut out the dead trunk and use it for firewood. I could see the scar 30 feet up where it had been ripped from the tree. Suddenly I realized that this is an illustration of life. The massive tree had endured the tearing away of one of its trunks. Life continued in spite of the loss.
I left the tree as I had found it. I named it the D`Arcy Oak.
Several years ago I attended a conference for writers at Laity Lodge. This Texas hill country retreat was built 50 years ago by Mr. and Mrs. Howard Butt, Sr., and has been directed all these years by Howard and Barbara Dan Butt. Modern pilgrims have shared the beauty of this canyon all those years.
The facilities are elegant. The canyon is so remote that one has to drive up the bed of the FrioRiver to get to the lodge. It is a place of healing.
The leader of the writers` conference was a woman in her mid forties. Her name is Paula D`Arcy. She is the author of several books and is much in demand as a conference leader.
Paula shared her story with us. With an honesty and openness that was astonishing, she took us with her on her journey:
In 1975, Paula, who is a psychotherapist by profession, was living in Boston, Massachusetts, with her husband and two-year-old daughter Sarah. Psychotherapist, yes, but Paula is also a writer. She said, "I cannot remember when I did not write."
It was natural to keep a journal beginning with the birth of Sarah. It was full of joy as Paula chronicled Sarah`s first steps and the delight this young mother shared with each new discovery of her child.
Mom, Dad, and little Sarah went to visit family over the weekend. The trip from Boston took about two hours by car. The D`Arcys had decided to extend the visit a bit and return on Monday morning. Paula turned to say something to Sarah who was in the car seat directly behind her.
"The last thing I remember was seeing a white blur." They had been hit head-on by a drunk driver doing 90 miles per hour.
When Paula regained consciousness she was in the hospital. "Where is my husband? How is Sarah?"
There was no way to break the news gently. Paula`s husband and child had been killed instantly.
The journal of joy becomes a journal of pain and loss. Like the great trunk ripped from the tree, Paula`s life was scarred. Her life was changed forever.
Paula was three months pregnant. With life inside her and death all around her, she plunged into grief, despair, and depression. She questioned why God would allow this tragedy to happen. Where was God at that moment?
Anger toward God became evident as Paula continued to write in her journal.
Beth was born and somehow life continued.
Paula told us that through an incredible set of events a copy of her journal was placed in the hands of Dr. Norman Vincent Peale. The great preacher urged her to publish it. "This account of your journey from joy to death and grief and back to life will bless the lives of many people."
It took her a year to decide to do this. "The experience was so personal. I was not sure I wanted to share it with anyone."
After months of indecision Paula decided to submit the journal to publishers.
Nine publishing houses wrote letters of rejection. Paula read a letter from the vice president of one well-known publishing house: "Your story has touched my heart. However, I am afraid it is too personal, too painful for our readers. They will not subject themselves to this much pain and sorrow. Thank you for giving us the opportunity of examining your work. Your manuscript is enclosed."
A small publishing house accepted the journal. Song for Sarah sold over 600,000 copies in the first six months and it was translated into eight languages.
Subsequently, Paula received a one-sentence letter from that vice president of the publishing house who had sent the cited rejection notice. His message: "So, I was wrong."
A senior editor of Reader`s Digest walked through his living room. His teenaged daughter was reading a book (that, in itself, was amazing). She was sobbing as she read. He wanted to see what could cause such a reaction in his daughter. Song for Sarah became the Reader`s Digest book of the month.
I was overwhelmed as Paula continued to share her journey with us.
After moving from Boston to Kerrville, Texas, she continued to write. Next came The Gift of the Red Bird.
The jacket of her following book, A New Set of Eyes, states: "The unique spiritual vision she articulated in Gift of the Red Bird established her as one of the most sought-after retreat masters and spiritual directors in the country."
The decision to tell her story-to share the experience that was uniquely hers-would change the lives of thousands of readers and listeners.
Your own experience-be it painful or joyous-can be the gift you have to give to others. The decision whether to share that gift is yours. You can keep it, shelter it from the eyes of the world, or hold it up for others to see.
If you choose to share your story your life will never be the same, for doing so brings with it the joy of seeing others encouraged by your experience. There will be readers and listeners who will draw strength from your sharing. It will give them hope.
The late Bill Cody told me that while he was director of Laity Lodge, he asked a young woman to share her story with about 50 people on a weekend retreat. She was the translator for Paul Tournier.
"She stood and opened her mouth to speak, but tears came to her eyes and nothing was said. Then she began to sob and tears rolled down her cheeks. Finally, she returned to her seat. She never said a word."
Later that day a wealthy businessman came to Cody and said: "I have a fear of being asked to speak in public. I just can`t do it. I know how difficult it was for her. If following Christ means that much to her I want Him in my life."
When you tell your story there always seems to be someone who hears and identifies with your experience.
Don Anderson asked me to speak at ManorBaptistChurch in San Antonio, Texas, in 1964. This was about a year after my suicide attempt. I spoke about the difficulty that I had had making the decision to leave the ministry after ten years of preaching. The fear of what others would think and how I would support my family was more than I could face. The only way out was to end my life.
I told of the three months in the San Antonio State Hospital, where I underwent 13 shock treatments, and was diagnosed as either being bipolar or manic-depressive.
I revealed how, with the support of Judy, who was then my wife of seven years (now 48 years), my family, and friends at Trinity Baptist Church, I had begun life again.
There was a man in the auditorium who cried nearly all the way through my story. He left before I finished. That afternoon, in a phone call to me he said, "I`ve got to talk to you."
We met and I listened as he told me that he had been a Baptist preacher for ten years. That very morning he had been on his way to a building where he had loosened a window on the 20th floor the day before. He was so depressed that he had been on his way to end his life.
"I have prayed and prayed but God seemed not to hear. He did not seem to be aware of my pain. I drove past Manor Baptist Church and had this urge to go in. I had never seen this church before. As you spoke, the similarity to my own experience left no doubt that God was answering my prayer."
This man continued in the ministry and I see him each year-for 35 years now at a place that is common to our journeys.
I realized that day that my ministry was the telling of my story. I had left the ministry to become a minister. Henry Nouwen called us the "wound healers" in his book by the same name.
As I walk past the D`Arcy Oak each morning, I am reminded that what seems to be the end can be the beginning.
Telling your story can make it so.
