When I was growing up, I had an old neighbor named Dr. Gibbs. He didn’t look like any doctor I’d ever known. He never yelled at us for playing in his yard. I remember him as someone who was a lot nicer than circumstances warranted.
When Dr. Gibbs wasn’t saving lives, he was planting trees. His house sat on ten acres, and his life’s goal was to make it a forest.
The good doctor had some interesting theories concerning plant husbandry. He came from the “No pain, no gain” school of horticulture. He never watered his new trees, which flew in the face of conventional wisdom. Once I asked why. He said that watering plants spoiled them, and that if you water them, each successive tree generation will grow weaker and weaker. So you have to make things rough for them and weed out the weenie trees early on.
He talked about how watering trees made for shallow roots, and how trees that weren’t watered had to grow deep roots in search of moisture. I took him to mean that deep roots were to be treasured.
So he never watered his trees. He’d plant an oak and, instead of watering it every morning, he’d beat it with a rolled-up newspaper. Smack! Slap! Pow! I asked him why he did that, and he said it was to get the tree’s attention.
Dr. Gibbs went to glory a couple of years after I left home. Every now and again, I walked by his house and looked at the trees that I’d watched him plant some twenty-five years ago. They’re granite strong now. Big and robust. Those trees wake up in the morning and beat their chests and drink their coffee black.
I planted a couple of trees a few years back. Carried water to them for a solid summer. Sprayed them. Prayed over them. The whole nine yards. Two years of coddling has resulted in trees that expect to be waited on hand and foot. Whenever a cold wind blows in, they tremble and chatter their branches. Sissy trees.
Funny things about those trees of Dr. Gibbs’. Adversity and deprivation seemed to benefit them in ways comfort and ease never could.
Every night before I go to bed, I check on my two sons. I stand over them and watch their little bodies, the rising and falling of life within. I often pray for them. Mostly I pray that their lives will be easy. But lately I’ve been thinking that it’s time to change my prayer.
This change has to do with the inevitability of cold winds that hit us at the core. I know my children are going to encounter hardship, and I’m praying they won’t be naive. There’s always a cold wind blowing somewhere.
So I’m changing my prayer. Because life is tough, whether we want it to be or not. Too many times we pray for ease, but that’s a prayer seldom met. What we need to do is pray for roots that reach deep into the Eternal, so when the rains fall and the winds blow, we won’t be swept asunder.
参考译文
小时候，隔壁有个老邻居，吉布斯医生。他看起来一点儿也不像医生的样子。每次看到他的时候，他都穿着粗斜纹棉布的工作裤，戴一顶草帽，草帽的前沿是一副绿色的塑料太阳镜。吉布斯医生总是笑，笑容与他的草帽很般配——满是褶子、饱经风霜。我们在他的院子里玩，他从来都不会对我们大喊大叫。我记得他是个非常善良的人，似乎他周围的环境还根本培养不出这样善良的人来。
吉布斯医生不治病救人的时候就种树。他的家占地10英亩，他一生的目标就是把这块地变成森林。
善良的吉布斯医生对种植有他一套独特而有意思的理论。他深信“没有痛苦，就没有获得”。他从不给他的树浇水，公然违抗传统常识。有一次，我问他为什么，他说给植物浇水会宠坏了它们，它们的后代只会越来越虚弱，所以你应该让它们周围的环境变得艰难一些，那些过于柔弱的树苗要趁早锄掉。
他继续解释，说浇水只会让植物的根变浅，不浇水的树的根都会向深处生长，自己寻找地底深处的水分。
所以吉布斯医生从不给他的树浇水。我记得他种过一棵橡树，不但从不像其他人那样每天清晨给它浇水，还总是拿一张卷起来的报纸去打它：“噼”“啪”“乒”！我问他为什么要这样做，他说他这样是为了吸引树的注意。
我离开家去读书。几年后，吉布斯医生去世了。现在我还时不时地会经过他的房子，看看他25年前种下的树。这些树，现在跟花岗岩一般强壮坚硬、硕大无比、郁郁葱葱。
几年前，我也种了一些树。整个夏天我都殷勤地给它们浇水，为它们祈祷。可是两年的娇生惯养让它们更加弱不禁风了。每次冷风袭来，它们就会颤抖摇摆不止，一副娇宝宝的模样。
反倒是吉布斯医生的那些在困境和匮乏中长大的树，获得了舒适和安逸不能赋予的滋养。
每晚我上床睡觉前，都会去看看我的两个儿子。我站在他们身旁，看着他们小小的身子吸入生命，又呼出生命。我经常为他们祈祷，祈祷他们的一生将一帆风顺。“主，请免去他们的艰难和困苦吧。”可是，最近我意识到，我该改改为他们祈祷的内容了。我意识到我的孩子终归是要遭遇困难的，我以前的祈祷真是过于天真了：因为无论在哪儿，都会有冷风袭来。
于是我改变了每晚睡前的祈祷词。因为，生活本是艰难的，不管我们愿不愿意。现在，我祈祷儿子的根能往深处蔓延，这样他们才能从隐蔽之处获取力量。
我们祈祷过太多舒适和安逸，可是这样的祈祷少有如愿。我们倒不如祈祷我们的根能往纵深处伸展，这样，冷风吹、大雨淋，我们也不会散碎成一片片。
