Cold Sassy Tree

by Olive Ann Burns

He looked over at me. “Will Tweedy, git on yore knees, son. Hit’s time to pray.” I knelt down on one side of the bed and Grandpa on the other. Holding Granny’s right hand, he rested his bowed head wearily against the edge of the feather mattress. Then for all the world like we were at testimonial time at the Baptist church with forty-five people listening besides God, he commenced to pray. The way Grandpa prayed wasn’t like other people prayed. You’d of thought God was an old crony of his instead of somebody who could strike you down dead if He had a mind to. “Lord?” he began, then stopped to honk his nose into a handkerchief. “Lord, I’m tempted to ast You to make Miss Mattie Lou well, like You was one a-them Atlanta doctors, or maybe Santy Claus and her a Christmas present You could give me if’n You jest would. I know Thou don’t mind me hopin’ she’ll git well, Lord, or wishin’, but hep me not to beg You to spare her. . . . Oh God, You know my sin!” he cried suddenly. His voice had an awful sound, like he was about to break half in two. What could be his sin? Granny’s harsh breathing and the hushed voices in the parlor filled the silence. Finally he went on. “If’n she lives, Lord, I’ll be thet thankful. If’n she don’t pull th’ew, I ain’t go’n say it was Thy will. You wouldn’t kill her, Lord, to punish me. . . . Hep me remember my faith that Yore arrange-ment for livin’ and dyin’ is good. Hit ain’t fair or equal, Lord, but it keeps thangs movin’ on. Hep me not forgit my fai...

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“When Jesus said ast and ye shall receive, I don’t think He meant us to pray ‘Lord, spare my child,’ or ‘Make it rain for the crops,’ or ‘Don’t let my bizness fail.’ I don’t even think Jesus meant us to ast for—” “—for a house or a piano?” She put her hand on his open palm. He laughed, and lifted her hand and kissed it. “Naw, and not even for a husband or any other sech favor. The Lord’s Prayer does say, ‘Give us this day our daily bread,’ but thet’s the only dang thang Jesus ast for in the whole prayer thet you can tetch. They ain’t nothin’ in the Lord’s Prayer says ‘Make me well.’ I’m tempted to pray thet right now, hurtin’ like I am. But I don’t think Jesus meant us to think we can git healed jest by beggin’ for it.” Grandpa laughed kind of rueful. “God made us so we want to stay alive. He put healin’ power in our bodies. We don’t have to beg Him to save us. All we got to do is accept bein’ sick, do what Doc says, and trust thet God wants us to git well if’n we can.” Miss Love broke in. “In the Bible, Jesus only healed the people who asked Him to—and believed He could. If Jesus could heal, can’t God? If we pray and have faith?” “Well’m, faith ain’t no magic wand or money-back gar’ntee, either one. Hit’s jest a way a-livin’. Hit means you don’t worry th’ew the days. Hit means you go’n be holdin’ on to God in good or bad times, and you accept whatever happens. Hit means you respect life like it is—like God made it—even when it ain’t what you’d order from the wholesale hou...

If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you. . . . Verily, verily, I say unto you, Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, He will give it you. Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name: ask, and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.’” Well, but how could I just stop there? Those words were worse than nothing if I didn’t tell what they meant to Grandpa. Looking at the long rough box, I spoke timid, in a mumbled voice. Not preachified at all. “Grandpa didn’t think Jesus meant, by that, that we should ast God for things, or for special favors. He said we could trust that in the nature of things, without astin’, we’ll get lots of blessin’s and happy surprises and maybe a miracle or two. When Jesus said ast and you’ll get it, He meant things of the spirit, not the flesh. Right now, for instance, I could ast, ‘Lord, please raise Grandpa from the dead,’ but it wouldn’t happen. But I can say, ‘Please, God, comfort me,’ and I’ll get heart’s ease. Grandpa said Jesus meant us to ast for hope, forgiveness, and all like that. Ast, ‘Hep us not be scared, hep us not be greedy, give us courage to try.’” I was really carried away. “Ast any such and God will give it to you. But don’t ast Him not to let fire burn, or say spare me from death. At least, uh, that’s what Grandpa said.”

A month after we buried him in the coffin box, the U.S. Post Office approved a new name, and Cold Sassy became Progressive City. The next spring the town council voted to widen the road on each side of the railroad tracks, which meant the Cold Sassy tree had to go. It was taken down and the roots chopped up, and I think everybody in town took some home to boil for sassafras tea.