The Apple Tree

There was once an apple tree who spent her days helping things grow.

It wasn’t always an easy endeavor, or a pleasant one. Some days, the sun beat down with relentless heat, and it didn’t feel like she was going to have what it took to keep the apples alive. Some days, the wind tore through her branches, and she hung on tight and did the best she could. Some days, she felt weak all the way down to her roots, and she sighed and reached inwards for her last dregs of depleted energy.

But other days, it was a delightful, rewarding task. These little apples, so small, so vulnerable, needed something, and she was able to give it to them. She remembered the first day the blossoms had opened their little pink faces, and how exciting it was to imagine the changes that would happen to them in the coming months. She thought about how they had grown larger and stronger, and how proud she felt of the progress they had all made. She thought about how they had slowly grown vibrant with colour, and how wonderful it was to know that they were maturing into what they could be.

She lived in an orchard, surrounded by other apple trees who were nurturing their own crops of apples. Except, she secretly worried to herself sometimes, they were probably doing it better than she was. Their apples looked bigger than hers, shinier than hers, and definitely healthier than hers. She knew she shouldn’t compare, but it was hard not to sometimes.

Plus, she would never know all there was to know about growing things. She would never be able to do it perfectly, no matter how much she learned and no matter what she did. There would always be dry stretches and the dreaded fungus and rot. Despite her best efforts (and oh, how she tried not to let these things happen) she didn’t always succeed. Sometimes, her best just wasn’t good enough. It made her feel very small.

But other times, the startling significance of what she did almost made her panic.

Her job was to help things grow. It was to provide them with what they needed to develop and thrive. It was rather important. It carried a lot of responsibility. She could fail in a hundred little ways every single day. And really, that terrified her.

It was the Farmer who helped her. He chose the number of things she would grow, and how many days they would spend with her.

And He knew best.

But sometimes, she forgot that. She took successes—and failures—very personally.

There were days when she forgot to thank the Farmer for his help. There were days when she marvelled at the growth she had caused. She felt satisfaction deep in her tree heart. She forgot that she had not done it on her own.

And then, there were days when she forgot to ask the Farmer for help. There were days when she didn’t think she had what it took to help things grow anymore. She felt that she had nothing left to give. She forgot that she did not have to do it on her own.

And then, there were days when she forgot to trust the Farmer’s help. There were days when she didn’t understand how he was helping her. She felt confused by the sting of the pesticides and hurt by the snap of the pruning shears. She forgot that she could not do it on her own.

And then, harvest time came.

She sighed until her leaves trembled. In many ways, she was grateful for harvest. Her branches were growing very heavy, and she was weary.

But on the other hand, it was hard to let things go.

It could be hard to believe that she had done what she could and leave the rest in the Farmer’s capable hands. As her apples were taken away, she couldn’t help but notice all their imperfections and secretly feel that she was to blame.

But in those moments, the Farmer knew. He placed His gentle hands on her weary trunk and whispered words of truth that seeped into her very core.

Your job was to do the best you could in the midst of the circumstances you were given. And even on days that were not easy, you kept helping these apples grow.

That is all I have asked of you. That is all I require of you.

Don’t take expectations upon yourself that don’t even exist.

I’m asking you to help these apples grow for a season and then let them go. Trust me to take care of them—and you.

You have done well, my faithful apple tree.