An Analogy for Sara

A gardener was gifted a seedling. Before planting its teeny weeny stem, he gently prepared the earth, carefully, vigilantly, so it was soft, but tough enough to hold its roots. Everyday, affectionately he would provide it with water, especially when the sunlight was too strong. At times he would place an umbrella over the top, so the stalk would not become dry. When the winds would blow with force and the sapling would shiver and shake, the gardener would place a solid support against its trunk, so it could lean on it during the storms and when the puddles were too deep, the gardener would wipe them away and make sure it wasn't affected by the moisture. Slowly, as the gardener nourished the young tree, its roots spread deeper into the ground and gradually it began to reach out its elegant branches. Before long, verdant leaves spread, all glossy with their satin sheen sparkling in the sun. When callous, colder days arrived and leaves began to wither, like sorrows the gardener would treat the bark and cleanse away the moss, so no beetles would ruin its skin. When snow angels fell from the sky, he would remove all the snow and build snowmen around its base, so the tree would be jolly on bitter nights. As it grew all high and mighty, its curly brown branches became home to baby birds and hibernating squirrels hiding their nuts. With sincere vigour the tree would protect them from predators... Now the tree was big and strong, so the gardener would sit underneath resting from tiring days sheltering from the rain. After a while the gardener never returned, but the tree kept flourishing, because it had unyielding foundations to battle the elements.