Sunday, May 22, 2016

Why Did You Plant Me Here?

Sweltering heat woke her from oblivion, the arid atmosphere already biting into her tender heart.  Her young hopes felt dashed already, her desire to expand and progress in the lush support of a pampered garden shattered cruelly and immediately.  She tried to move but alas!  She found herself thoroughly rooted, not in the soft embrace of sweet and gentle leaves, but shackled in thorny chains of continual injury. 
 
 
Father of heaven, why did you plant me in this scorched, nigh forsaken waste?  What have I done to displease Thee or lose Thy favor?  I know that other regions exist where rain falls abundantly and the air teems with blessed coolness and humidity.  I know these areas house countless flowers that stretch and yawn in easy luxury.  Dost Thou love them more than me?  I know deep inside that they are not more beautiful than I am.  At least, why didst Thou not give me a chance?  Is it because in truth Thou seest me as weak and ugly, and Thou knowest in Thy might wisdom that I would fail?  Dost Thou see me as second rate and worthless beside those well kept oft tended blossoms?
 
 
Thus the little bud questioned, prayed, wondered and wept, and as she did, the heat increased with vehemence.  No helping rain splashed down from the heavens to her rescue, no respite saved her from the ever increasing fire of the Arizona sun, and yet, trapped in her prison, the flower began to look about her. 
 
 
Everything is so horrible here.  I know in my heart what beauty is and what should exist.  I know and comprehend loveliness that these poor, wretched companions can scarcely comprehend.  I wish they could see the beds of flowers that I know exist. 
 
 
Little by little, the blossom matured, and, in the ordinary course of her nature, spread her petals outward and gazed at the cloudless, azure sky.  Many came from far to gaze upon her face and whisper in hushed wonderment at her form.  And then, the little flower began to understand what she had not dared hope to believe.
 
 
Little one, I knew who you were when I planted you.  I knew how strong and beautiful you were.  I knew you needed the heat and horrors to become what you presently are.  It wasn't because you were less or second rate that I planted you among thorns.  It was because in this barren wasteland, I needed my strongest, my sweetest, my most resilient creations of glory to cheer the gloom and uplift the downcast.  I planted you here because you are strong enough to give life to this dreary, agonizing desert. 
 
 
The flowers in the carefully tended gardens would have wasted away under this rigor, but I knew you were one of the few who could survive and make this hellish atmosphere a place of unmatchable and unutterable joy.  You are my ensign, my beacon to the world, my symbol that nothing is impossible, and because of your strength and beauty, many people who have forgotten what miracles are shall remember where to look in their distress.  I know it has been hard, but it was necessary to raise you up as the example of power and resilience that you are to millions throughout the world. 
 
 
 
 

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