The careless vibrancy of youth, the mellow joys of mid-life and the serenity of old age… and then, we look at the new life with authority and wisdom.
Our house in the farm is surrounded by more or less 50 mango trees; about half its number are bamboo trees in the western side, and in the eastern side are other fruit trees which are just taller than the mangoes. A few years back, we have stayed in this farm house longer when our children were still in the grade school. The pace of life was not so fast then and things were not so complicated as it is now.
On summers when most of the fruit trees are in bloom, my son, enjoyed going about the area with his Dad who was so entertained by our boy’s endless ‘Why’s.’ One time in their early morning stroll he said, “Dad, I noticed that while all other trees are flowering before summer, most of our mango trees are turning over new leaves while the bamboos over there are shedding off their own. Why is it, dad?”
That was twelve years ago when he had a lot of questions to ask. Now, he’d rather explain it to others and he has a better answer which is precisely the more complete one – “That’s the cycle of life,” he’d begin and embark on his explanation. “Trees, unlike us do not toil, nor do they wander for their own place under the sun. They are placed by one hand where they are and are left to survive; yet, they complain not as they go through their harsh environment under the heat, rain and storm. They turn over a new leaf as each season changes. They shed them off at its turn and take pride in its blossoms when the time comes. Trees when well cared bring in more fruits. It’s sort of giving back the kindness to the owner who cared for them. Its seeds will grow to another life.”
Lately, my teen-age son and I were walking the narrow path leading from the house to the bamboos when he suddenly chuckled. He remembered how his Dad and I made him believe that the bamboos were the elders, the other fruit trees were the middle aged members and the mangoes occupying the adjacent hills were the teen-agers of the ‘Tree Community.’ The hagonoy vines and cogon grasses in the other hills were the scalawags ready to take over their places should we stop caring for the trees. We laughed at the personifications and metaphors until we reached the lone sineguelas tree laden with fruits glued to the leafless branches. Mimicking his Dad’s voice, he said, “See that one? Sometimes, you have to shed off your adornments, bare yourself and put everything down in order for the Great Provider to beautify you with good things.”
“God is perfect,” my second daughter once argued, “but we all trip and fall sometimes in our humanness. Anyway, we can pray for strength and courage each time…even if we can never emulate Jesus to perfection.”
Yes, we are imperfect but love and caring from those who love us will pull us up together with our lost pride whenever we fall. “However,” added my elder daughter, “faith in the Unseen Hand that heals us will make us fruitful.”
Hearing all these from the kids… I believe that the world will be a beautiful place for them to live in. After all, it starts from the heart that the mouth utters thus.
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