Sometimes

As the Father steps out, He reaches for the worn canvas tool bag waiting just beyond the door. 

Greeting the lush landscape with a soft smile gracing His weathered face, the large man gently strokes a leaf here, a bush there as He makes His way through His legacy coming to a stop at His destination. 

Admiring years of work, He lovingly recalls choosing the bonsai’s special container, the trimming and pruning of unorthodox parts, the uncomfortable grafting of strengthening material, and the recent slow tightening of the shape-conforming clamps, which He would remove today. 

Not all was done just for the tree's benefit, but some for those who would one day rest in its shade.

With its branches softly swaying in the warm breeze, the seemingly insignificant tiny tree bows in anticipation of the Master’s expert touch.  

written 09/10

Sometimes there is no good or bad explanation; a thing just is. 

Sometimes there is no lesson that I can see. 

Sometimes it has nothing to do with me at all. 

Sometimes it has everything to do with those around me.

Sometimes its hard to know He will bend me to the point of breaking.

But sometimes that's when He's seen the most.

And sometimes that has to be enough.