BoomerGirl Diary

Imlay City, Mich. — After performing the funerals of two close relatives, the Rev. Alan Casillas was filled with anger and grief.

"Where was God?" Casillas questioned. "Why didn't God heal them? Does God even interact in our world?"

Struggling with these issues, Casillas, 47, went on sabbatical from St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Imlay City. He spent the summer going to seminars, reading and searching for answers.

"Sabbaticals are a time of rest for pastors, away from the normal duties of the ministry," Casillas said. "We literally detach ourselves from the congregation. It's a time for study and relaxing. The sabbatical was something I chose and designed."

His sabbatical boiled down to one central question: Does God ever speak to us?

In late August, Steve DeSutter, 57, a member of Casillas' congregation, was diagnosed with Fournier's gangrene, an uncommon but potentially fatal disease that attacked his genital area.

"I thought Steve was going to die," said Dawn DeSutter, 54, his wife of 33 years. "My sister is a registered nurse. She was with me when we were waiting for his first surgery. The doctor came in and told him what he was going to do.

"He said it was Fournier's gangrene and my sister gasped. I knew, right then, it was really bad. I just started crying. I knew then how serious it was."

Steve and Dawn met in a bar in 1973. He was the Vietnam veteran, sitting on the quiet side of the bar. She was the outgoing, blond waitress with the high-pitched voice that sounded like a cartoon character.

"How `bout a date, Minnie?" he wrote on a napkin.

"Sure thing, Mickey," she wrote back, leaving her phone number.

They have been together ever since.

"I can't live without him," Dawn thought at the hospital.

She drove home and parked her Ford truck in the driveway, next to a row of Douglas fir trees. The DeSutters own 2 acres in Imlay City, Mich., known as the "Gateway to the Thumb." More than 10 years ago, they planted five Douglas firs.

Facing the trees, Dawn cried and prayed for guidance.

She was afraid she was going to lose her husband, lose the house, lose everything.

Doctors performed four, hour-long surgeries, each time removing infected tissue that amounted to an area about the size of a softball.

"Basically, they go in and cut the infection out," Steve said. "They told me that I came in at the 11th hour. I was lucky I didn't wait another day."

Steve lost 29 pounds in two weeks.

Doctors were afraid the infection would spread to his genitals, which would require them to be surgically removed.

"It spreads like wildfire," Dawn said.

Every night, Dawn drove home in the F-350 diesel, which is inscribed with the nickname: "Babe the Blue Ox."

Dawn parked in the driveway, next to the Douglas firs, letting out the tears and prayed to God.

Dawn and Steve call themselves religious, but usually keep it to themselves. "We don't go around preaching," Dawn said.

Steve was raised Catholic. When he was 12, he remembers getting whacked on the knuckles by a nun, who told him that he spelled his name wrong when he hadn't.

"I got up," Steve said. "I walked out and I walked home. That was the end of me believing in the Catholic deal, you know?"

Steve found religion again after a near-death experience in Vietnam. A bomb exploded and killed several soldiers, just 100 yards in front of him.

"It brings you to your senses," Steve said.

Dawn was raised Lutheran.

"We used to go to church every Sunday," Dawn said. "We put all four kids through catechism and it's a requirement to go to church."

After their children were confirmed, they stopped going to church every Sunday but continued to attend occasionally, especially around the holidays or on special occasions.

A wooden cross hangs in the family room, near the television. And Dawn wears a gold cross around her neck.

"We aren't holy rollers," Dawn said, "but these kinds of symbols mean a lot to me."

On the Sunday after Steve was admitted to the hospital, Dawn returned to church and took all four of their children with her.

Dawn has always prayed before going to bed, but she found herself praying in the hospital chapel and in the truck on the way home, in addition to sitting in that driveway, next to the Douglas firs.

After two weeks in the hospital, Steve recovered and returned home.

On Sept. 12, around 2 p.m., Dawn had an appointment to get her nails done for the first time in five weeks. She came down the sidewalk, across the driveway and looked at the fir closest to the backyard.

She saw something strange. Something unusual. Something that stopped her cold.

She saw a cross, growing in the tree.

"Is this for real?" she thought.

Casillas had returned from sabbatical when Dawn called him.

"Pastor, there is a cross in my tree that I really want you to look at," she said.

Casillas drove to the DeSutter home, figuring it was her imagination.

A cross in a tree? "Yeah," Casillas thought. "Whatever."

Some people say they see angels in the clouds.

Others report seeing the Virgin Mary in a potato or in a window.

"I'm always skeptical about things like that," Casillas said. "I expected to see branches in the form of a cross and it wouldn't be a big deal."

A week later, Casillas walked across the driveway and looked up at the tree, which stands about 20 feet tall.

He was shocked at what he saw: "That's amazing."

The cross is about 18 inches long, shooting from the end of a branch.

"It so stands out," Casillas said. "It's amazing. It's unmistakable. I've never seen a tree grow like that. It's almost a different color than the rest of the tree. I'll tell you, it looks like it was put there, just for them to see as they are walking out of their house. It stands out in ways that are amazing. I have a feeling this will impact them greatly."

The cross is almost perfectly proportioned, perfectly positioned, a few feet from the top.

"I think it's a sign for you, that God is with you," Casillas told Dawn.

And it confirmed what Casillas found on sabbatical.

"This was clearly an answer to me," Cassilas said. "God is still speaking to us, in ways that are sometimes ordinary and sometimes extraordinary. I think this is one of those extraordinary ways."

Steve continues to improve. He's still sore and uncomfortable, but appears to be out of danger. He's just thankful the disease didn't do any more damage.

"The doctor said I'm doing fine," Steve said. "He's surprised how fast I did heal up."

Dawn took a picture of the cross and put it in a frame. It sits on a table, next to the chair where her husband watches television. The room is now filled with angel figurines and crosses and religious sayings and get-well cards.

"This is something that makes you think," Steve said, looking at a picture of the cross.

The cross gives Dawn a sense of peace, a sense that everything is going to be all right.

At night, she goes outside and prays under the cross. Eventually, she'd like to get a kneeler to place under the tree, creating her own personal sanctuary.

"Every night, I go out there to make sure it's still there," she said. "The last few nights, I go out there and pray.

"It's a miracle. It's a sign."

Unusual, but not miraculous

Jill O'Donnell , who has worked for 20 years as a Christmas tree expert, has never seen anything like the cross that is growing in the Douglas fir in Imlay City.

"I can say, honestly, no, I've never seen that before," said O'Donnell, who works for the Michigan State University Extension.

O'Donnell viewed a picture of the tree cross.

"I think it is new growth," O'Donnell said. "I can't tell if there was some damage that caused it to grow that way, or frost, or bird damage that caused it to grow oddly."

There is no guarantee the cross will survive the winter. New growth is fragile and more susceptible to freezing and frost. "I suspect it will be fine unless we get some really cold weather," O'Donnell said.

O'Donnell said it is unusual to see long shoots in that area of the tree. "You would normally see longer shoots at the very top of the tree," O'Donnell said. "It's not typical, certainly. It is quite striking. You look at it and go, whoa."

Dr. Mel Koelling, a retired MSU Extension Christmas tree expert who owns a tree farm, said the cross formation is uncommon. But he offered an explanation.

"It is my opinion that the cross image is simply the result of two sets of lateral branches in close proximity to each other but which are located in different planes, thus giving the appearance of a cross," Koelling wrote, in an e-mail.

"I suspect any religious significance is in the eye of the beholder."