Welcome to our Advent special for the Sojourner Storycast! Because it’s the Advent season—a time of longing, waiting, and watching for Christ—we’re pausing our regular timeline of church history and stepping into another kind of sojourner story about three trees, three dreams and the surprising ways God fulfilled each one.
This American folktale, called the Tale of Three Trees, most likely began from the Appalachian region. This story was passed down orally, shaped by storytellers, and eventually written and retold in children’s books and Christmas programs.
For many years, families would share it around fireplaces, in little country churches, or as part of Christmas pageants. No one knows exactly who created it, and part of its beauty is that it has always been a story that belongs to the people, growing and changing with each telling— much like the trees in the story themselves.
What makes this tale perfect for Advent is that it’s a story of waiting. Of dreaming. Of wondering whether God sees us and whether the hopes we once held still matter. It’s a story that whispers the truth that God often works in ways we could never predict— and that the greatest miracles usually appear in the most unexpected places.
The Tale of the Three Trees
A Retelling
High upon a mountain crest,
Stood three young trees in daylight dressed,
Whispered dreams into the sky,
With hopes as bright as stars on high.
The first tree watched the heavens gleam,
Like diamonds in a silent stream.
“Oh, let me hold such treasure rare—
Gold and gems beyond compare.
Let me be a chest of worth,
The finest masterpiece on earth.”
The second heard the river roar,
Rushing toward the ocean’s shore.
“Oh, let me be a ship so grand
That kings would seek my sturdy stand.
Let me sail both near and far,
Bold as wind and guiding star.”
The third tree, still upon the height,
Lifted branches toward the light.
“I never want to leave this place—
This quiet peak, this open space.
Let me grow so tall and free
That all who look will think of He
Who made the skies and shaped the sod—
Let them look up… and think of God.”
Years rolled by with sun and rain;
Rings formed whispers in each grain.
Until one day, with echoing sound,
Three woodcutters climbed the hallowed ground.
The first man said, “This tree is fine,”
And swung his blade along the line.
Down it fell with hope inside—
“I’ll be a chest,” the tree replied.
The second woodcutter eyed the next:
“This one is strong,” he said, perplexed.
Another blow, another fall—
“I’ll be a ship admired by all.”
The third tree stood straight and tall,
Heart trembling at the axman’s call.
But he never glanced at height or grace:
“Any tree will do,” he muttered in haste.
One final swing—her dream undone—
She fell beneath the setting sun.
The first tree, proud, was carried fast
To where the carpenter’s tools were cast.
But no fine chest was carved that day—
Just a humble trough of straw and hay.
No gold adorned him, bright or new;
Only dust and barnyard dew.
The little tree wept silently—
“How far of what I dreamed of me.”
The second tree reached the shipyard gate
Expecting grandeur, royal fate.
But instead of sails and noble crew,
He became a fishing boat—small, crude.
With every catch of smelly fish,
He mourned his lost and mighty wish.
“What king would ever step on me?
What happened to my destiny?”
The third tree lay in a lumber stack,
Her longing gone, no purpose back.
Chopped in beams—forgotten wood—
She wondered if she ever could
Point up to the God she loved
Or stand tall as she once dreamt of.
Days turned months, and years rolled by;
Their dreams grew dim beneath the sky.
Until one night in Bethlehem,
The world grew still around the Lamb.
Starlight spilled like molten gold
Across the manger, rough and old.
A mother laid her baby there—
A treasure beyond jewels rare.
“This crib is perfect,” Joseph said.
Hope warmed the tree from foot to head.
And there he knew with trembling joy:
He cradled Heaven’s holy Boy.
Another night, on Galilee,
The second tree rocked wearily.
The storm roared wild, the waves rose steep—
The boat feared death within the deep.
Then Jesus woke, His voice at peace,
He spoke one word—the storm did cease.
The trembling boat stood still and calm,
Held safely in the Savior’s palm.
And then the small tree understood:
He bore the King of kings for good.
One somber Friday, hushed and dim,
The third tree felt the weight of Him.
The Carpenter’s Son, in grief and pain,
Was laid upon her wooden frame.
She felt the nails, the darkness near;
She quaked beneath the weight of fear.
“I’m nothing now,” she whispered low,
As Hope hung near in heaven’s glow.
But Sunday dawned in radiant sweep—
The ground shook awake from holy sleep.
Light exploded, stone rolled free;
All creation sang in victory.
And the third tree knew with swelling pride
She had lifted Christ worldwide.
More than tall, more than grand—
She’d played the part God had planned.
For God made beauty from their loss,
And strength was born upon that Cross.
The first tree held the Treasure true,
The second carried Royalty through,
The third pointed all eyes above
In the greatest story of perfect love.
The End
My Musings
I love this tale because it reminds us of something we so easily forget: God’s plans for our lives are often very different from the dreams we imagine… but they are never smaller. They are deeper, wiser, and far more beautiful than anything we could have hoped for on our own.
Sometimes, when things don’t go the way we expect, we get disappointed—or even frustrated. We start wondering if we’re overlooked or failing, just like the trees felt when their dreams seemed to fall apart. Have you ever felt that way? Maybe your life looks nothing like what you once planned. Or maybe you’re afraid you won’t achieve your dreams… or that the future won’t unfold the way you hope it will. Maybe you’re wondering if God even sees you—or if your story still has purpose.
But here’s the beautiful truth: in the quiet, in the waiting, and even in the humbling, God is at work.
He was shaping each tree for a purpose far greater than they could have imagined.
Our God is so good and so wise—He never wastes any part of our story. Every trial, every disappointment, every season of waiting or reshaping has meaning. So often, it is through the molding and humbling that we are prepared to carry what is truly precious.
And here’s something else this story shows so beautifully: it reminds us where our true value comes from.
The trees weren’t special because of what they accomplished. They became precious because Jesus was present with them. His presence turned a feeding trough into a cradle for the King, a simple fishing boat into the stage of a miracle, and rough wooden beams into the place where salvation was won.
The same is true for us. Our identity and worth don’t come from our achievements, our talents, or how well our plans turn out. The world keeps shouting, “You’re enough on your own!” But when we believe that, we can end up rejecting the grace God longs to give us.
The truth is—we aren’t enough on our own. And that’s not bad news… it’s good news.
Because when we humble ourselves and recognize our need for Jesus, we finally open the door for His presence to fill us. And that is what gives us value: Christ in us—His presence, His love, His life flowing through every part of our story.
So even when your life doesn’t look the way you imagined… even when you feel ordinary, weak, or broken… or even if you’re young and simply worrying about whether your dreams will come true… remember this: God is shaping you. He is working in you. And His presence in your life makes you valuable in ways the world could never measure.
Our dreams may change, our plans may foil, but Christ in us never fails—and that is more than enough.
This week, take a moment to notice God’s presence in your ordinary moments, and rest in the truth that your value is found in Christ alone.
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