Once upon a time a line of picturesque trees stood on an old farm. These trees were so proud of their bright green leaves and sturdy branches. They loved how the sun tickled their highest leaves and how the squirrels played hide-and-seek in their limbs. They would wave at all the passing birds with glee.
Yet there was one Little Tree who could not grow tall like his brothers. No matter how much the rain would soak into his roots or the sun would caress his limbs, he would not grow higher than his brothers’ lowest branches.
All the proud trees around would laugh and call Little Tree names like “Twig” or “Little Stem.”
Little Tree prayed every day, “Lord! You made me. Now make me big and strong like my brothers. Please!”
There was no answer from God for Little Tree.
Summer’s hot sun faded into autumn and all the trees’ leaves began to change colors and everyone that passed by commented on the golden hues and the vibrant reds. The trees were such a sight!
Still Little Tree did not feel better. He still hoped and wished and waited to grow taller and bigger like all his other brothers.
The bitter winds of winter gushed in and all the trees were covered in a crowning canopy of snow. Little Tree could only hope and pray for the spring to come and again ask the Lord to make him big and strong, just like all his brothers around him.
The spring breeze gently encouraged the winter blankets of snow away. Fresh rains poured down and the warm sun began to thaw the trees out once again.
“This is the spring that I grow big and strong!” promised Little Tree to all his brothers.
All his brothers just laughed and tickled him with their limbs. Little Tree’s branches drooped all the more.
In desperation, Little Tree cried out to his Creator once more, “You are the maker of the hot radiating sun, the soft, round moon, and all these tall trees around me! You are the one who tells the huge ocean to stop at a certain point. You are the one who makes the wind to whisper and waft through our branches. You are the one who gives every little cricket their melody. Please make me big! I feel so small. I feel as if I am not important. Please make me big so I can wave my branches in the winds, too. I want to be like my brothers.”
Little Tree waited expectantly and hoped . . . and wished . . . and waited . . . yet there was no answer for Little Tree.
“Well, I suppose I am too small for a great big God to hear me anyway,” grumbled Little Tree.
Spring vanished as summer boldly appeared with a burst of celebration on the old farm. Bright patchwork quilts were spread on the ground in a hodgepodge of hues. Streamers of yellow and blue hung from the porch and a myriad of people from the village had come to celebrate the old farmer’s birthday. Children played tag, leap frog, and hide and seek around the tall trees. The older boys wanted to climb the tall trees but the trees had no branches close to the ground for the boys to climb on.
“Oh! If they would only see me!” thought Little Tree, who was nestled between the two tallest, thickest trees. “My branches are close to ground but they are strong and sturdy enough for children to play on.”
To Little Tree’s delight, it was as if the boys had heard his plea and they raced to climb his branches and explore the limbs of Little Tree. All day the boys could be found in Little Tree’s arms. How happy and complete Little Tree felt.
At sunset the blankets were swept up and the everyone began to leave the farm promising to return next summer.
Finally, Little Tree could hear his Creator speak to him, “Little Tree. Little Tree. For this purpose and reason I designed you. I created you just how you are for a reason. I love you just how you are.”
Little Tree could feel the warm winds embrace him and welcomed the moonlight upon his branches. His Maker continued to talk to him, “Little Tree. I have always known the plans I have prepared for you. You were born and grew in this fashion so many little hands and little feet could find joy and happiness in your perfect-sized limbs. I love you, Little Tree.”
With the whispered answer clinging forever to Little Tree’s thoughts, he finally felt complete. As the psalmist wrote, “I will cry unto God most high; unto God that performeth all things for me” (Psalms 57:2).
From that moment on, Little Tree’s bigger and loftier brothers never teased him about being short. Little Tree never again prayed to be big or taller. He knew his Maker had formed him just the right size to touch children all over the village that would visit the farmland from time to time.
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