The Small Tree

I hired a plumber to help me restore an old
farmhouse, and after he
had just finished a rough first day on the job: a
flat tire made him lose an
hour of work, his electric drill quit and his
ancient one ton 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 thing's for sure, those
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 and ask God to
take care of them. 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 aren't nearly as many as I remember
hanging up the night
before."

                                   Author unknown

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