A LESSON FROM THE CHINABERRY TREE

JAN KEELER—AUSTIN, TEXAS

I LOVE MY OFFICE VIEW. Four expansive windows open up to a valley that is covered with a carpet of deep, dark green mesquite trees—with one exception. In the middle of the valley there is one tree that stands alone. And as the morning light hits its branches, it radiates the brightest, most unabashed gold you could ever imagine. It's called a wild chinaberry tree. Something even in its name makes me smile every time I look at it, because it makes no apologies for its unavoidable, undeniable uniqueness. It stands completely free to be itself.

Its example reminds me of a period in my life when I felt as if I was standing alone. I'd graduated from college with a degree in communications and had taken an office job, but I wanted to do something very different with my life. I wanted to be a Christian Science practitioner. So, there I was—out there—feeling as if I was on such a different page from what my friends were doing and what my family, who were not Christian Scientists, understood.

Some might call it a "divine propulsion." Others might call it a "mission" or a "calling." For me, it was yearning that was inescapable. Although I'd not been raised as a Christian Scientist, I'd always wanted to know more about spiritual things. When I was in high school, a wonderful family introduced me to Christian Science and had answers to my bazillion questions about life. Christian Science pulled me out of some pretty deep waters resulting from some bad choices I'd made in college regarding relationships, and it was teaching me to approach life's choices from a whole, new spiritual perspective. It healed me of the need to wear glasses, and I'd seen my dad healed of a serious illness with the prayer of a Christian Science practitioner whom I'd encouraged him to call. I was grateful, and I wanted to help others who were searching for spiritual answers.

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