The front lawn at our house is marked by the decaying stumps of two trees. The trees were cut down so long that I have no idea what kind of tree they were but they were obviously big—each stump is at least half a meter in diameter. The two stumps are slowly rotting away and eventually, will be no more than a slight hump on the lawn. Right now, however, they are something of an annoyance when I am mowing the lawn.

They are big enough that I can’t just mow over them—and the mower doesn’t get close enough to cut right up to the stump, even though I purposely bump the stump seeking to knock of some of the decaying wood and hasten their eventual disappearance. There is, I suppose, the option of stump grinding but I don’t own the house or the lawn or the stumps and so have no vested interested in making the stumps disappear sooner.

And the stumps are actually filling an important ecological niche on the front lawn. Both support thriving communities of insects and small life forms—that is what is causing the breakdown of the stumps, the various life forms eating and nesting and whatever in, on and around the stumps. One of the stumps also has a significant colony of fungi. For some reason, the old roots of this particular stump are closer to the surface and so provide a home for some giant puff balls. Watching them grow is kind of interesting and more than makes up for the black spots on the lawn when they eventually burst.

So, when I was reluctantly pushing the lawn mower for the first time this spring, I was mildly interested in the condition of the stumps. I was annoyed that I would have to weed eat around the stumps and interested to see that some of the puff ball black spots had made it through the winter. A few more bits and pieces of the stumps has fallen off and were quickly mulched by the mower.

And then I noticed that the puff ball stump has another occupant feeding off the old wood. Two trees somehow managed to sprout from the top of the stump. I am not sure what kind they are beyond the fact that they are conifers—both a pine tree and a fir tree are close enough to be likely parents and I am more of an expert on the “Tree of Life” than the life—and birth—of trees. But it is interesting that the two seeds somehow managed to sprout in the rotting tree stumps. Now, when I mow, I will be watching with interest to see how well the trees survive in their rotting home.

Life amazes me with its ability to cope and thrive and overcome incredible odds. Grass grows in cracks in the pavement; flowers poke through rocks; puff balls feed on dead tree roots; trees sprout in decaying stumps. Some desert insects in the Namib desert have learned to harvest water from the wind blowing off the ocean in the mornings. Fish find ways to live in dark caves. Animals and plants are adapting to the radiation scared Chernobyl landscape. Coyotes and racoons have become unbanites.

Life adapts and overcomes and survives. When one form fails, another takes its place, often using the failed life form as a starting point. I am aware of the ecological catastrophe unfolding as a result of human interference and meddling and lack of concern. I am deeply concerned with the mess we humans are making of the world.

But within that reality, there are two points of hope. The first is the resilience of life as shown by the ecosystem that developed around the two stumps in the front year. Life adapts and keeps going.

The second point of hope comes from my faith in the Creator. As destructive as humanity is, God is even more powerfully creative. This is God’s world, not ours and the divine creativity will always triumph over human destructiveness. That doesn’t absolve us and allow us to do whatever we want. It does provide hope that in spite of our greed, stupidity and senseless exploitation, God will triumph. Just as he redeems fallen humanity, so also will he redeem the creation we have messed up.

May the peace of God be with you.