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It’s funny how we don’t always notice the way our attitudes, and yes, even our sins (that’s a big word, I know) can spill over into the lives of others. Whether we mean to or not, we’re all influencers. Sometimes we’re like a warm ray of sunshine… and sometimes we’re more like that cloud that blocks it. I once heard someone say, “Some people are happy when you arrive… but happier when you leave.” That shouldn’t be said of any of us.

Jesus calls us to let our light shine so that God gets the glory. That’s a truth Mrs. Grimsley had to learn for herself too, and she’s the star of this week’s story. My hope is that her tale will give you a smile and maybe even a little food for thought to tuck into your heart.

Wishing you a great weekend

The Tree That Stank Up the Town

Door J.K.Stenger

Vera Grimsley would not cut it down. 

Not today, not tomorrow and not ever. 

That tree belonged to her. Not to her neighbours and not to the town. Not even the State could make her cut it down, and that was all there was to it. 

Sure, it smelled bad. 

Mrs. Grimsley had noticed it too, at least in the beginning. So what… if it gave off a sour stench in spring and its summer fruits were ugly, stinking things that oozed black syrup that was useless for anything except staining and permanently damaging your clothes. Let the people complain. They would just have to learn to live with it. 

She had.

They had tried to convince her to cut it down. At first, they were polite. 

A group of well-dressed ladies, calling themselves The Neighbourhood Watch, had shown up on her doorstep with an apple pie and the combined scent of a perfume store. In suave, sing-song voices they’d asked if perhaps, she might consider removing the unsightly, smelly thing from her yard. 

“Nope. It’s my tree, and I want it.”

Then the police had knocked. Two husky fellows; classic gorillas with shiny badges and revolvers bulging from their holsters rang the bell and stared her down with stern expressions that were meant to scare her into submission. It was spring, and the smell from the tree was nearly unbearable. At least it was for the officers who pressed checkered handkerchiefs to their noses, just to survive the visit.

Mrs. Grimsley didn’t smell it anymore. She had grown used to it. As is so often the case when you live long enough with something rotten, you stop noticing. Eventually you grow attached to it, feel empty without it and maybe you even start to like it. The police officers stumbled off in defeat, yet glad to go home. 

Worst of all, the law was on Mrs. Grimsley’s side. At least that’s what Mayor Justus P. Wright concluded after consulting his friends from the local law firm Shady & Shakey Attorneys.

It was time for drastic measures, so P. Wright, always the picture of understanding and a man for all seasons, called in the thugs.

“How long do you need, to take that thing down?” he asked Mikey Cardona, well known for his less-than-honest dealings, both in and out of town. 

“About 10 minutes, Mayor,” Mikey replied. 

The deal was signed and Mikey pocketed five hundred dollars. That night, he and his right-hand man, Tiny “Mountain” Morelli, fresh out of jail, climbed over the fence, chainsaws in hand, ready to do their good deed for the people of the town.

It didn’t work. They came to a rude awakening. They had forgotten it was summer and as soon as they fired up the chainsaw the vibrations shook the tree, sending a torrent of overripe fruit raining down on them. Catastrophic result. Black syrup was everywhere; in their hair, in their mouths, down their shirts. Tiny “Mountain” even screamed.

Some say, the two gangsters smell bad to this very day.

The next day, Mrs. Grimsley bought herself a fierce Rottweiler who seemed oblivious to the stench and patrolled her garden day and night.

Needless to say, no one came to Vera Grimsley’s anymore. Not even the Jehovah’s Witnesses knocked on her door.

Mrs. Grimsley herself stayed home too. She ordered her shopping online, but had to pick it up herself by walking the entire length of Summerville Street until she came to Archie’s petrol station, where her orders were dumped behind his shed.

And that was when Pastor Caleb Hart appeared. He was new in town and still full of hope and courage.

He swung by town hall. “What’s with that tree in Mrs. Grimsley’s yard?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” someone shrugged. “It just showed up one day. We’ve given up on it.”

Caleb Hart wasn’t convinced. “But that smell,” he argued, “What if it spreads and doesn’t just stay in her garden? If we don’t stop it, it may soon eat up our entire city.”

“Guess so,” Mayor Justus P. Wright muttered. “But I’ve done all I could. It’s out of my jurisdiction.”

So, Pastor Caleb Hart decided it was time for a visit. Armed with the promise that he could do all things through Christ, he braved the bitter scent and knocked on Mrs. Grimsley’s door.

The old lady looked every bit her age; worn and weathered. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, her hair stuck out in wild, unruly tufts and her pale skin had a glassy, fragile quality. She wore a torn nightgown that desperately needed a wash, or maybe just the trash bin. But, and this was the good news, she seemed genuinely pleased to see a real person standing at her door. 

“Sorry about the mess,” she mumbled after inviting Pastor Caleb inside. She bent down to pick up a used sock from the living room floor, then quickly nudged a dirty dish from last night’s dinner under the couch with her foot. “I don’t get many visitors these days, you know.” 

“I see,” Pastor Caleb said, settling onto the only stool that wasn’t piled with stuff. 

“Tea?” Mrs. Grimsley asked.

“No, thank you,” Pastor Caleb said. “I just had two large expressos.” He gave her a cordial smile, cleared his throat and asked, “So … eh … what’s the problem. Mrs. Grimsley?” 

“I guess it’s my tree,” she replied. “They say it stinks up the neighbourhood.”

Pastor Caleb wanted to agree, but thought it best not to upset the old woman, at least not yet.

“Have you always had that tree, Mrs. Grimsley?” 

“Oh no,” she forced a small laugh onto her worn face. “When I was with my husband Randy, we had a lovely garden. But then…” Her face darkened, and Pastor Caleb saw the anger rise in her eyes. “…then he left me for that Wilma girl. Wilma Peabody.”

Were those tears in her eyes? 

Mrs. Grimsley sighed as she continued. “Randy just laughed in my face and the day he left he said, ‘Sorry hon, it’s been nice, but now it’s over.’”

She tightened her fist and pointed with her other hand to a large brown stain on the wall. “I threw my coffee in his face. I never want to clean that stain. It reminds me of his unfaithfulness.” 

“And that tree?” Pastor Caleb asked.

She shrugged. “The day he left, a strange seed landed in my garden. I remember it well; it was so large and hideously black.” 

“Where did it come from?” Pastor Caleb asked.

“How should I know? I’m no florist. It just appeared and grew like wildfire, until it became this tree.”

“And… you don’t want to cut it down because…?”

She nodded solemnly. “Exactly, Pastor. Chopping it down would feel like letting that fool off the hook. Besides, it grew on me, literally and emotionally.”

Pastor Caleb scratched his head. “Mrs. Grimsley, with all due respect, nobody likes that tree and frankly, you haven’t exactly won any popularity contests yourself. You yourself are out here, pining away in dramatic solitude. Do you even know what they call you in town? 

“Should I care?”

Pastor Caleb pressed his lips together. Some call you Sappie Sadie. The children sing about old Aunty Bitterbark. And the people in the pub call you Wanda Wickedwood.”

“That’s… eh… not very kind,” Mrs. Grimsley muttered, eyes narrowing. “But I really don’t know what to do about it. Anyway, I have things to take care of, so unless you’re here to help, maybe it’s time you left.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Grimsley, I will,” Pastor Caleb said, “But, before I go, may I say a prayer for you?”

“A prayer? You mean… to God?”

Pastor Caleb nodded. “Who else would I be talking to?” 

“Alright,” Mrs. Grimsley mumbled. “But just a short one. I haven’t talked to God in a long, long time and I’m pretty sure my looks are not pleasing to Him.” 

“That’s fine, Mrs. Grimsley. God’s house is full of peculiar people.” 

And so, Pastor Caleb offered a prayer, asking God to do the impossible and bring resolution to this complicated situation.

And that night, everything changed.

A storm hit, just when Mrs. Grimsley wanted to go to bed. Thunder struck, lightning flashed through the sky and it rained cats and dogs. Mrs. Grimsley even allowed her Rottweiler to sleep inside that night.

And it was a good thing she did, for, that very night lightning struck the dark tree and levelled it to the ground. By morning, all that remained was a smouldering spot. The stench of the ugly tree was gone. The whole town breathed a collective sigh of relief.

As Mrs. Grimsley watched, a strange emptiness settled in her chest. The tree was gone and a gentle warmth rose. She felt different … free. Tears welled up as she realized that in order to get totally healed, she would have to let go of more than just the tree.

So that Sunday, just when Pastor Caleb had begun his sermon, the church doors opened and Mrs. Grimsley stepped inside, holding a large tray full of freshly baked buns that smelled like heaven. 

“Mrs. Grimsley?” Pastor Caleb spoke from the pulpit. “Why are you here and why the bread?” 

She looked up with tearful eyes and spoke just loud enough for all to hear. “All these years, I’ve fouled up this town with my bitterness. But God burned it down, and now He wants me to feed others instead of spreading darkness. That is…” She hesitated, as a large tear rolled down her cheek. “…if you all will forgive me and give me a second chance. I brought these buns, hoping you’ll allow me to share communion with the congregation.” 

Pastor Caleb smiled gently.

“Vera, mercy can heal even the deepest wounds. Today, as we break this bread and share the cup of our Lord’s suffering, know that you are forgiven.” He paused, then added with quiet warmth, “And remember that when we place our hand in the one of our heavenly Shepherd, we never walk alone.”

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