Once upon a time, there was a tree.
In the heart of an orchard, it had sprung from the earth—a small, fragile green shoot blending in with the surrounding grass. Curious about everything, it quickly began observing the world around it: the flowers that opened in the morning and closed at night, the birds that chirped as they hopped from branch to branch, the farmer who came early each morning to harvest fruit from the trees, the grasses swaying under the caress of the wind…
Ah! How beautiful it found this world around it! It too wanted to be part of that beauty, to find its place in the harmony.
A year went by and, having grown, it had become a small sapling with a few twigs. It realized it was not a blade of grass as it had first believed, but a tree, and began to observe its elders more attentively.
It found them so tall, so beautiful, covered with leaves and flowers. It was amazed to see all those flowers turn into fruit, and deeply moved by the careful attention the farmer gave them. But…
But looking at itself, it noticed that its bark looked nothing like theirs, and its branches had a different shape. Then it grew afraid—afraid of not being tall enough, not beautiful enough, not bearing enough fruit. It feared that the others—apple trees, pear trees, mirabelle trees—would not accept its difference, and so it decided to grow no leaves, no flowers, no fruit.
And so the years passed. Every spring, its trunk thickened and lengthened, new branches sprouted, but… no leaves, no flowers, no fruit.
To avoid appearing bare next to the others, it had, since its youth, let itself be gradually covered by climbing ivy, bindweed, and clumps of mistletoe. Not knowing what it might look like, it cloaked itself in a beauty that was not its own.
More than once, the gardener planned to cut it down for firewood, but, always busy with other things, he postponed the task again and again. One morning, however, he came with a large axe and began by cutting the ivy that was strangling the tree. There was so much ivy that it took him all day, and once again, he delayed the felling.
That night, a small parasitic worm bit into the bindweed, which died instantly. The next day, the birds of the sky, spotting the mistletoe, came and pecked it away.
All that remained of the tree in the orchard was a trunk and some branches—it was just the tree, as it truly was.
Suddenly aware of its nakedness and not knowing how to cover it with any artifice, it finally decided to let grow along its branches beautiful little tender green leaves, to let blossom at the tip of each twig charming small white flowers that contrasted prettily with the brown of the wood and the green of the foliage.
The farmer, returning just then with his axe, discovered in place of the useless trunk a magnificent cherry tree, and found no reason to cut it down. He let it stand, overjoyed at the miracle that had occurred.
Since that day, the tree lives happily in the orchard. It is not like the others—neither taller nor more beautiful—but just as useful. It has understood that neither the texture of its bark, nor the shape of its branches, nor the form of its leaves, nor the color of its flowers matter: what matters are the fruits it bears, which no one else can bear.
And so, every year in the lovely season, the farmer’s children come with a ladder and, spreading out in its branches, gorge themselves on its fruits and fill the tree with joy through their laughter.
Let us not be afraid of the fruits we could bear, for no one else can bear them for us—but many can be nourished by them. Let us not be afraid of the fruits we could bear.
For every time we refuse them, something will be missing from the world. Let us not be afraid of the fruits we could bear, for each one helps grow the Life and the Love that God has given us.
From the collection “Of Flowers and Trees” / Author: Antoine Lang
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