Trees can be planted in wrong places. My husband’s father allowed his two boys to bring pine trees back from New Mexico and plant one on either side of their Midwest house. The only reason he allowed them to do this, he insists, was because he never thought they would grow.

But grow they did, from tiny saplings to enormous trees, leaving a bed of dry needles every year. We bought the house from my in-laws when our children were babies and inherited the not-supposed-to-grow pine trees. They may have grown strong and flourished for a while, but by the time our kids were teens, it was obvious that these trees had to go—that they had been planted in the wrong place. They weren’t life-giving to our yard; they were causing problems.

It’s amazing what you can learn about trees from owning a home, especially an older home with full-grown trees. The trimming, the fall leaves, the acorns, the spiny sweet-gum balls—all of it takes up a considerable amount of time and money. If they’re planted correctly, they give food, shade, and refuge for wildlife. But if they’re planted wrong, well, then eventually they have to go.

We are each planted somewhere, meaning we’re rooted in ideas and truths and dreams. We’re either properly watered and trimmed, or we need to find soil that is life-giving. A place where our hopes and dreams can be nurtured by truth and love.