Tiny Mighty

The Gardener cupped the seed in His hand, “Precious”, He reflected, “We’ll have to brood over this one.”

He gazed at the seed tenderly; lovingly…He held it so dear to him, so protectively. The seed itself was somewhat unusual looking, it rather had the look of a pomegranate seed, and it was a little seed in a glowing orangish-red outer shell that rather suspended the seed inside. 

Tears welled up in His eyes. The seed looked so small and fragile, the way it glowed it looked like it had a liquid inside a thin membrane. Beautiful and delicate was its appearance to me.

“This seed is resilient, stronger than it looks”, The Gardeners said, There were 3 standing together looking at the seed;  1 thin and elegant and had wispy, flowy movements, The other very ancient looking, kind yet resolute and ageless and the Gardener Himself;  “and we’ll be with her”, He stated resolutely. “This grove needs her and she’ll need us.”

“It is time”, The Gardeners Father spoke softly, yet purposefully. His father owned all the land around and He knew everything a person could know about growing things, ecosystems, cause and effect, the way of the land, why creation itself seemed to hold no mysteries for Him. He seemed always to be in tune with the times and seasons and weather. He had vast wisdom and all he knew, he imparted to his son.

The gardener knelt down over some dry lifeless dirt, light tan in color, not the deep dark rich fertile soil you would suppose a gardener would plant a seed in. His fingers dug purposefully in the hard crusty dirt; the rough grittiness scratched his fingertips. He gingerly placed the seed into the hole He’d created and carefully put the dirt back over top of this little seed. The fat drops of tears now, uncontained, fell upon the tiny dirt mound and moistened a small area, only enough to set the seed,” Some dryness will cause the roots grow really deep,” He knew that a deep spring lay hidden beneath the ground here and the hunger for that water would cause the roots to grow deep.

They stood there, The three watching this planting with earnest concern…almost sensing the violence under the ground. The seed slowly dying to its natural glowing beauty, yielding to the tearing and breaking of itself to release the life bringing roots form its core, yielding to its placement  here in this unrelenting barrenness.

Those roots; looking for moisture, sensing, in an indescribable miracle of nature, the stretching and groaning to find life, make their way down through the cold, hard, dark earth. The roots dig with a violent grace, force their way through the hard stony earth. Sensing moisture, giving all it contains to get it. It hasn’t reached the underground stream yet but deep under the surface the soil becomes moist. It is enough moisture to produce life in the seed. The soil itself now in the deep places is able nourish the life that is straining to happen above. Only with water is the dirt…now life giving soil, what was once a barren place is rich with nutrients and life. Soil which was crushed rock and debris, decay and rot is now something to grow on.  Sometimes some of the most destructive and awful things in our lives can go through become the very fuel that causes us to grow in grace, wisdom and compassion.

Now the rest of the dying for the seed comes, no more containing its purpose in the shell, the yielding to death becomes an upward yearning for light and air. The stretching and intent pursuit for life pushes this seemingly fragile strand of determination upward. Straining upward, this tiny strand of hope is absolutely driven to obtain life, life giving light and breathable air. It’s a fragile and powerful thing…Hope.  It can maintain a life for years and yet without it crush a soul in an instant.

Then it happens, breakthrough to the surface, light and air… LIFE!

Breaking through the surface was such a momentous occasion for all, the Gardener and companions smile, she did it. “Tiny Mighty”, the Gardener said and with it, a name was given.

She, is unaware she did anything momentous; she was just trying to breath. Once above the surface she stretched her tiny face toward the sun and took a deep breath. She takes in the dry, dusty  air with vigor, deeply breathing and soaking in what little light is afforded through the cloud covering. She doesn’t know the air is dry and dusty, it is air, and the only air she’s known thus far, and she’s unaware that it’s cloudy…it’s the most light she’s seen and she’s glad for it…basks in it, is thankful for it.

She looked around at her surroundings and was neither happy nor sad. How could she be, she was placed her…planted here, in this very stark barren area.  There weren’t any signs of life or companionship in her immediate vicinity, no shelter from the elements by taller trees or even a bush.  She didn’t know she would need protective coverings from others.  She simply sprouted up from where she was planted.

The meadow was indeed a barren land and there was a family of bunnies that had burrowed in this place that rather adopted this little sprout, out of curiosity and lack of choice. It was company to the little sprout, nonetheless, even if their focus was a little lacking…always flitting off somewhere in some other direction.  The mother bunny was always on the go from this place to that, her little ones didn’t know where she was most of the time…funny bunny; she would sometimes sleep next to the sprout as her leaves came out more, she was the shelter around. The bunny didn’t stay around for long stretches…didn’t really listen much, mostly chattered about how barren everything was and flitted off. She would run after the promise of greener fields but always managed to come back wounded somehow.

Storm winds come and blow upon this little sprout, her little being shaking in the wind attracts a nearby ravens that seizes upon the sprout and starts pulling. Ravens…scavengers, preying upon weaker, more helpless things to maintain their existence, seem always to be around when we are most vulnerable. Those scavengers, that tried to pull her up from what where she is planted even from the roots of where she found sustenance, her roots were deep already, and her stem though frail was resilient...she was not easily plucked up.

The Gardener took one step towards her and the ravens flew away, they’d be back though. She didn’t see the gardener, not yet, but his step toward her warded them off. As he watched over her and saw the ravens come, he allowed the pulling and stretching, her roots and very core being tested even so young would make her more resilient, she would need to be resilient for that which was coming ahead. Though the testing isn’t always pleasant for the gardener, it is necessary and he steps in when her frame can’t take it. He is a constant.

After the ravens leave and she is standing there, a little shaken but not uprooted in the least. She becomes accustomed to the dark clouds and violent winds. She isn’t a stranger to the pesky ravens that seem relentless in their quest to uproot her. She looks out now, a little taller, starting to bring forth leaves; she sees the pebbles that are slightly different in hues from morning to night. The clouds and their beautiful and mysterious changes, and sometimes at dusk there are colors that seep through the clouds that are so captivating she can only marvel at their beauty. The winds that could be so harsh sometimes gently sweep across her and she yields her face to the sweet caresses.

There were times of terrible storms and summer squalls. One day though a terrible storm came, it came with such force and fierceness. She didn’t usually see the mother bunny in the storms, often her little ones as they scrambled to find shelter, like today. The sky black with punishment and the rain seemed to sting with accusation, the wind whipped her small frame. So little, what had she done to deserve this? So exposed to the elements, no larger trees to find shelter under or at least block the wind. She stood in it, yielded her back to it, bending with the wind and trying to hide under her own tiny leaves. Not knowing, not yet, how the gardener had diverted flood waters to keep her from being washed away, kept her from drowning.

After this storm she looked and saw the gardener for the first time. He looked at her, he was soaking wet from the rain. He had not hid from the storm and it was then that she realized he was there protecting her…though she was going through much, he was enabling her to go through it. He smiled at her and just then the sun poured in through the storm clouds and she was nearly blinded by the light. She closed her eyes and basked in the blinding light absorbing the heat and feeling energized, revived and strengthened by it. The light was like energy juice to her being and she could feel life coursing through her being.

She looked around her at the dark wet ground, the pebbles now gleaming with new colors in the sun, were more beautiful than she could have imagined. The air was fresh; the ground was deep brown and the wind a whisper. Her leaves were radiant and glowing with green life as the sun shone through them and tiny drops of water glistened like clear crystal round jewels alive with every color around them, becoming fat with moisture drawing her leaves down with the weight of them until they jump off and her little leaves bounce up, relieved of their dazzling heaviness.

She looks at the gardener again, he pointed behind her, she turns and sees a rainbow, glowing in its vibrant beauty, and she never thought she would see anything so beautiful. “My promise”, said the gardener, “I am always with you, no matter what storm, no matter what heat, no matter what tries to pluck you from where I’ve planted you. I am here.” She gazed at him then the rainbow, what a beautiful promise, the colors seemed to seal it in her heart…she purposed that she would not forget his words.

She intended to never forget the tone of his voice, the tried to burn an imprint of the look on his face to the very heart of her existence. It wasn’t that she had felt uncared for and she was grateful for the bunnies and little critters she saw occasionally, but when he looked at her, suddenly she felt cared for, stronger…..valuable. It was like she was seen for the first time.

The gardener came and went as gardeners do, she didn’t always see him but she knew he was around, somewhere and always.

The days were getting shorter and the air colder. Her leaves became a vibrant orange, when the occasional sun shone through she was dazzled by them. Her stem now a hardened brown thin trunk still yielded to the winds, still smooth and somewhat fragile. She was glad for its thickness when the cold air came. She became much more aware of her roots then burrowed deep in warm safe places, warmer than her face and limbs anyway, still stretching for some deeper places still. She could feel herself stretched out in all directions in the earth, not knowing at all how stable this made her.

One by one her beautiful multi-colored leaves turned fell to the ground, her limbs could no longer hold them and she watched them float down, her heart was so sad and they lay there even in the rain with other moisture, they still turned brown, curled up, some got blown away by the wind and others lay there.

The mother bunny ran off during this time, one of her little ones tired to find her but ended up wandering away. One little one came to the tree, the only shelter around and dug near the base of the tree and burrowed shelter there. The little tree was glad for the company; the two of them weathered their first winter together.

The tree now bare and exposed to the elements could do nothing else but stand there exposed. Yielding to the cold wasn’t so bad, you really do get numb to it after awhile, besides her roots were deep and warm and there was a companion burrowed that brought extra warm and even the leaves that feel were extra insulation from the penetrating cold, frost that came and even came beneath the ground. Her eyes captivated by the sparkling, incredible, intricate patterns that unseen artisans had crafted in the cold, patterns dancing across the once damp fallen leaves…and then it happened….snow.

What a beautiful, marvelous thing, snow, the first time she saw it her breath was taken away, the thought of cold left her. The snow came with little wind the first time, fat beautiful tiny globs of crystalline magic, floating so effortlessly, a slow motion tumbling that seemed more like flying than falling. Chunky snowflakes fell one her branches and lay on the ground all around her as far as the eye could see. The bunny poked her head out, quickly thrashed some leaves over the opening of her hole and yielded to sleep, it would be a long bitter winter, and sleep was the best pastime for this bunny. The little tree though, was curious to what awaited every day, what weather, what new animal and especially if she would see the gardener.

The winter was bitter cold, fierce winds, barren landscape…but sometimes after a storm and the moon was out; the prettiest sparkles would dance on the blue-white landscape.  Small wind gusts would pick up the snow dust and twirl it around for just few moments before the snow would escape the invisible hands and collapse on the ground like a discarded tango dancer tumbling forward, exhausted and emptied.  Sometimes in the most bitter cold evenings the moonless sky would bring the stars out of hiding and they would sing to each other and have sparkling conversations….sometimes one would even race across the sky blazing a stardust trail behind…shouting a grand exit and leaving one staring into the sky to try to catch another one in the act. Entrance by the beauty of the sparkling display above and the stillness of all around her, and He would come sometimes and sit under the stars with her and tell her different clusters of stars and their tales and meaning, or sometimes sing with her. Sometimes just smile at her small frame as she sang.

So the winter went. In what seemed endless the cold began to fluctuate to wet cold and then to wet…a lot of wet. Rain, rain that drenched the already drenched wet allowing for spring to burst forth in blossoming, fragrant color bursts. The sun, though not a stranger was beginning to penetrate the cold and warm her through. Spring was here. She had not noticed in the barren landscape she had been placed in coupled with no small amount of snow, that she had grown tall and her branches now spreading and reaching towards the sun and stars were many and long.

As green made it’s was a way across the landscape, Tiny Mighty was overjoyed to see for the first time green was all around.  Birds came to her and bees to her blossoms which she was also delighted to see, both blossoms and the hardworking bees. No much for chatting, they just worked and worked and kept on task. The birds though, came and chatted, romanced and played. She sang her songs to them and they would come and all sing together. Blossom gave way to leaves and small bulbous growths on her branches, which were growing strong.

She was amazed to see the bulbs on her branches get colorful and large, some children came and plucked and ate some delighting in the taste as the juice rolled down their chins. Some got picked, some fell. She was happy to yield the fruit and always happy when the gardener came, occasionally to prune, though it was painful, she so often hated it at the time, she was happy with how much more fruit she yielded the next. The gardener always spoke to her as he worked, soothing her and telling stories of great heroes. It inspired her to be brave, because they were weak too.

The summer went on through to fall and then to winter. Storms and squalls, heat and stars and growing company and grasses and wildflowers grew around her and she found that the field she was next to had wild grasses and flowery shrubs and plants. The bunnies now a large family and growing were running about and even foxes and deer running in the field. Her companionship grew and the once lonely habitation was beginning to team with life. The Gardener came and enjoyed the field with her and they talked about many things. He loved pointing out creation and how things worked together, how no movement or design was without purpose and how it all, intricately and vastly were pictures of the creators heart, so much to learn.

She was surprised and delighted to see young shoots like she once was, so frail and small. Now she could whisper stories about creation and sing songs on starry nights, Flowers and lovely blooms springing forth in an array of colors and the beautiful fragrances they brought were welcomed and enjoyed. Peepers and crickets serenading the meadow through the night as the moon bathed the meadow with light.

The wind rustling Through Tiny Mighty’s , now very strong boughs, also swept across the tall grasses with a gentle swooshing sound. The fireflies dancing above the moving grass rival soft rolling ocean waves and the stars sang and twinkled in delightful enjoyment and competition. She stood high above it all, in absolute enjoyment of the richness and variety of life that filled the meadow. She could only marvel and delight in them…the songs they sang had different tones. When the wind swept over them all, with all the leaves, needles, grasses and animals the merging of all the sounds was nothing short of magical. The Gardener sat in boughs and listened to her sing and the meadow itself was a symphony of sounds and life and she felt like a nurturing guardian, standing firm, caring and resilient.

Other young trees were quickly overtaking her stature. Some had grown up, with the Gardeners help, from her own fruit and they were now bearing their own fruit as well.  Variety of life was flourishing in the meadow on the edge of the young woods. Many different types of trees now filled this once barren place, each with their own sound, their own expression. The Pine didn’t judge the Maple tree for extravagant fall displays, nor did the autumn gold display of the Gingko try to get the urge the whispering pine to yell louder. The Quaking Aspen so sensitive to every move of the wind was an encouragement to others whose leaves needed stronger gusts of persuasion. All knew the gardener and had their own songs that He enjoyed.

Tiny Mighty reveled in her very full and companion filled life, each song, each voice. The songs of the stars and chorus of the meadow filled her sense and she learned something from each of them and the Gardener was always there; teaching, pruning, harvesting, and planting. His skillful, strong but gentle hands always guiding, His ear always attentive, His Wisdom always available and His Presence always near.

She didn’t know, her life was against the odds, she didn’t know she helped transform the meadow, she didn’t know how much life, laughter, community and love were provided in her leaves, shade, boughs and fruit. All she knew the Gardener taught her everything and she wasn’t lonely anymore and she was beyond grateful at the richness in all the life that surrounded her.

© Warrior Bride Publications 2014