Trouble Tree
The carpenter I hired to help me 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 old pick-up truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat
in stony silence.
On arriving, he invited me 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 opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was
wreathed in smiles, and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.
Afterward, he walked me to the car. We passed the tree, and my curiosity got 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, but one things for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and
the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then
in the morning, I pick them up again."
"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."
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