THE TREE WASN’T THE PROBLEM 

THE TREE WASN’T THE PROBLEM 

By Bill Tibbetts 

Learned something new recently as a homeowner. 

EAB. Emerald Ash Borer. 

It’s a bug. And it destroys ash trees.  

In particular, it murdered my 40-year-old ash tree in our front yard. MURDERED, I tell you! 

The only solution was to cut it down.  

And having it gone has changed every step outside the front door, every pull into the driveway, and every glimpse of the house when turning the corner on a walk. It’s weird.  

My wife and I were returning to the scene of the crime (aka home) and I sighed, “I hate it. Our house is ugly without the tree. We need to move…or burn it down.” 

Without missing a beat, as if she were on some great sitcom, she deadpanned, “Something’s wrong with you.” 

“I know dear, but that doesn’t solve the fact that we need to set the house ablaze.” 

“No,” she murmured. “It’s all good or all bad with you. You must be tired.” 

Even though we were joking, mostly, there was truth in her observation.  

I’ve had the tendency to think in extremes.  

The adage, “Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water,” comes to mind. 

It was ridiculous, looking back. And, “Yes,” it was tiring.  

Instead of quietly surrendering moments to God, I would mentally declare the whole day, season, or situation ruined…usually because of my own misstep or out-right failure.  

Call it people pleasing, perfectionism, insecurity, or whatever euphemism you want. 

At the root, I think it was pride. A subtle belief that my standing with God somehow rose and fell with my performance. 

And that belief created a chasm. 

Not because the Father had moved away from me. 

Because I had a hard time receiving what had never changed: His immeasurable patience, kindness, and delight toward us, His children. 

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!” (1 John 3:1) 

(If you can, just sit in that scripture for a moment.) 

The more I came to see God as Father instead of merely Lord, the more obvious that chasm became. 

The birth of this realization left me with one question: 

How do I actually think differently? 

Not just believe differently on Sunday. Actually live differently on Tuesday afternoon after I’ve messed something up. 

For me, the answer has become what I call micro surrenders. 

Tiny moments throughout the day where I intentionally hand something back to Jesus. 

Paul writes, “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind…” (Romans 12:2). I realized renewal wasn’t a single breakthrough moment. It was the slow, gracious work of learning to think with God instead of simply reacting with myself. 

A disappointing email. An anxious thought. A harsh word I wish I could take back. A conversation that didn’t go as planned. 

(A dead tree.) 

Instead of letting those moments shape emotion and thoughts, I practiced micro surrendering: 

“Lord, this belongs to You. Help me trust You more than my emotions or thoughts. I receive Your grace again.” 

And over time, those little surrenders started changing me. 

Not all at once, clearly. But steadily. 

I’ve found that peace isn’t something I stumble into. It’s something I practice returning to. 

So, “Yes”…I still miss my tree. 

And if you catch me at the wrong moment, I still might suggest we Zillow this bad boy. 

But now, instead of letting a missing tree convince me everything is ruined, it reminds me of something much better