Looking out my bedroom window half asleep this morning, I saw one of the surest signs of spring. I saw a bud on a tree branch. The tree has begun rebuilding itself after the cold, long, hard winter. The tree has a lot of work to do. It has to start somewhere. With one little bud. One small bundle of soon to be leaves. They will one day sway in the breeze, carefree. But now, they are just starting out and are fresh and new.
Every year a tree suffers a terrible loss. It spends its summer with the beautiful shimmery green leaves soaking up the sunshine, but it knows that soon enough, the leaves will turn gold or red and then brown. They will fall to the ground. All the hard work of growing those little leaves in the spring is lost when the leaves fall. We rake them up, we think they are a nuisance. We may even burn them. To the tree, though, they are life. Yet, year after year the tree rebuilds. It grows new leaves, despite the fact that it knows it may happen all over again. That is what the tree must do to live. To survive. The tree does not complain, it simply picks up the pieces and starts over.
Why is it so easy to take this for granted, that the trees will have leaves, yet so hard for us as humans to pick ourselves up off the floor after something bad happens? Why can’t we just dust ourselves off like the trees and set out determined to grow new leaves?
So, my new goal is to be more like a tree. Not the standing still part, I plan to move forward. I plan to start over this spring. To begin to regrow little buds of happiness. It doesn’t have to be all at once. I can start one bud at a time and refill my whole tree. And, should tragedy strike again, I know that even after the harshest of winters, I can start all over with one tiny bud.