Whispering Woods

From the pressed pulp of a thousand different forests, the trees whispered to him. He was fascinated, though he did not understand.

***

The psychologist leaned back in the chair behind his desk, holding the piece of paper before his eyes while thoughtfully stroking his chin.

It was the second time I had been tested on the path to ordination. I had taken the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI) before being approved for deacon’s orders. That was to be followed by two years of probationary service before being ordained as an elder. In the interim, however, things changed. The probationary period was extended to three years & the psychological testing was to be done after commissioning as a probationary elder (no longer deacon) & before ordination as an elder in full connection.

Yippee! I got to take it again…,

…with an added little twist. We were instructed to draw three pictures: one of the outside of a house, another of a man & a woman, & finally, a drawing of a tree. These three pictures along with the results of my personality inventory were what he held in his hand.

I sat across from him on the other side of the desk as he continued his attempt to discern what those whispering trees were doing their best to divulge.

“This is interesting,” he began. “I’ve never come across a personality like yours where the subject wasn’t homosexual. But your heterosexuality is all but off the charts.”

Great! I guess that helps explain why all through high school & college people who didn’t know me well assumed that I was gay & why people who didn’t look at me directly often called me “Ma’am.”

“And typically those who boast your sort of profile are incredibly naïve. The pictures they draw of a man & a woman are often nothing more than stick figures where the only way you can tell the difference is that they may have drawn a triangle for a skirt on the woman & possibly long hair. That’s clearly not the case with you.”

I had drawn two nudes reclining on the floor facing one another, their feet intertwined. A hint of his relaxed penis rose slightly between his legs, her breasts on naked display.

“What we look for with the house are windows & plants. The windows imply an openness with others while plants indicate important relationships.”

Virtually the entire front of the house was occupied with picture windows. I had also included a skylight on the view from above. (We had been told only to draw the outside of the house, but there was no way I wasn’t going to know the entire floorplan, including the spiral staircase from the kitchen/dining area to the second floor along with the two-tiered fireplace. So I drew the outside of the house both from the front & from above.) But while there were places for plants & I knew where the trees were supposed to go, I had not included them in my drawing.

Yes, my trees, keep on whispering. Perhaps he will hear you eventually…, though it appears not yet.

“From this drawing I would have to say that it seems you have few if any secrets but also no close friends.”

Very astute, my dear Watson. So, while you may not quite hear the whispers of the trees you hold distraught among your fingers, the whispers of their absence come through loud & clear. Please continue. One drawing remains…, & it is of a tree.

“But this last one, the one of a tree…. The trunk indicates the unity & integration of the self or core identity. The longer the trunk, the greater the integration. Branches at the top indicate different aspects of the individual’s personality. The more branches, the more facets or dimensions. The longer the branches are, the more developed those facets are.”

“Some literally have nothing but a trunk with a veritable cloud on top to represent the leaves. Others will have two or more branches of varying lengths. You have four coming right out of the base of the tree with virtually no trunk, twisting around one another with other smaller branches extending from each of them.”

Yes, professor, tell me what my tree is whispering in your ear.

“It’s almost as though you are right on the edge of schizophrenia with four all but completely distinct personalities. But they are all connected at the bottom, bound together just above the roots.”

Do tell. Go on.

But first please allow me to interject, kind reader, to help complete your understanding of my drawing. One of our neighbors from when I was growing up had crabapple trees in their yard, all of which had multiple branches extending from the base twisting around in different directions. I’ve always enjoyed the way they looked & how easy they were to climb. The leaves I drew on my tree (individually, veins and all) were more like those of a weeping willow than a crab, but not quite so elongated. The fruit I included were like ripe plums. Okay, back to the narrative.

“I have three of them figured out—physical, emotional, & intellectual—but I have no idea what the fourth branch twisting around behind the others represents.”

I knew immediately the identity of the one hiding, though I never bothered to share it with him. I figured let the tree continue its whispering. He’ll figure it out sooner or later.

Or he won’t.

Just in case you haven’t figured it out, it was my spirituality. I know that seems strange for someone on the verge of being ordained into fulltime ministry, but I’d come from a large family replete with strong opinions & had just spent over two years on the road singing gospel music with three of my brothers who often didn’t care too much for my theology, thought or opinions in general. I’d learned how to keep my mouth shut, at least most of the time.

We concluded our time together, him continuing to shake his head over the utter complexity of this enigma sitting with him in his office. His job was to identify any red flags along with particular gifts & graces that might be indicated. He chose to be encouraging, showering me with praise & overall agog-ery.

Just as I was getting up to leave, he returned to the issue of sexuality. In our denomination, clergy were required either to be faithful in heterosexual marriage or celibate in singleness.

“You are attracted to women, aren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes & gave a somewhat exasperated sigh, almost as though defeated by my answer—“Yes.”

“That’s good, then.”

What an odd way to end our session. More concerned that I might be attracted to men than that I might be whelmingly—perhaps even compulsively—attracted to women. I’ve been shaking my head over that ever since.

And no mention of OCD! I guess maybe nothing needed to be said. The trees of my confessions had been fairly well shouting it the entire time.

Though now they became silent as he slid them back into their file. As far as I know, he never heard them whispering to him again, nor did anyone else in the church.

But I hear them, & over the years those whispering woods have taken their toll. They have exacted their price as only they could exact it—in this confession & the utter collapse of my soul.