As the little maple tree grew
The Master’s voice was heard.
“A city park tree is the life that I have meant for you.”
As he grew the maple watched and waited for his turn.
He thought “Today just might be my day or maybe this new morn!
For God to move me
And take me to the place that I was meant to be.”
Day by day nothing changed.
Day by day he only grew,
Covered by tangled vines and taller trees,
Hidden far from view.
The air grew cold. Snowflakes fell.
Footsteps were heard coming near.
They came for pines to cut and sell.
Christmas day would soon be here.
“You said I was to be a tree in the park,”
The little maple thought.
“When will you send someone to take me?
How can anyone see me here?”
“Be patient little one. I’ve not forgotten.
Children will play in your branches.
Mother’s will sit in your shade.
Certainly a park tree is for what you were made.”
Day by day the maple stood.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Surely the Master would be true to his word.
Still the maple stood, deep in the forest wood.
A violent storm came up one day.
Trees around him lost their hold and fell.
The maple dug deeper and held on tight.
He would not let go.
Men came again.
This time to chop dead wood
to tend the fires at home.
Still the maple stood.
One day a gardener came
with a shovel and a truck.
The maple thought “It’s for me he comes!
To transplant me to the park!”
He tried to look his best
to stand out from all the rest.
He shook his leaves and puffed up his might.
The gardener passed him by.
He took small saplings
to plant in yards and along the drive.
The maple he left standing.
“When will you move me?
You said a park tree I would be.
How can anyone see me
here in the forest so deep?”
Year by year went by
The maple saw many trees go
Some were chopped; some were dug
But still the only thing he could do was grow.
“I’m waiting to be moved.
This isn’t the place for me.
‘Bloom where you’re planted,’ I’ve heard.
But a park tree I was meant to be.”
Time continued to pass.
No one came for the maple.
“Maybe I heard wrong,”
he thought at last.
“Others are being moved.
Here I stay.
Master was I wrong
in what I thought I heard you say?”
Lift up your branches.
Put forth your colorful leaves.
So, the maple gave up his dream
He surrendered the passion inside.
“If this is where I’m to stay,
I’ll praise though in the forest I hide.”
Looking, the maple found
so many around him were gone.
Fallen. Chopped. Transplanted.
The maple stood alone.
“I don’t understand.
I thought I knew what you had planned.
Maybe I was wrong.
If I’m not to be a park tree couldn’t there be someone
for me to talk to when the day gets long?”
Then, the maple watched with great surprise.
He saw a truck come into view.
It carried a great many supplies.
Swingsets were built and jungle gyms!
A park bench was placed under his limbs.
“The Master did it!” the maple leapt inside.
I thought that I should be the one to move
But even when I couldn’t see
God was bringing destiny to me!
Now children play in his branches
Mamas sit in his shade
The maple waves to all who pass
For a park tree he was made.
The child looking up at the tall, tall tree
Wondered, how did you get so tall to be?
The tree in wisdom said,
“Simply stand rooted deep and raise your head.
Lift up your hands and shake with the wind
Blow with the breeze, but never let your praises to God ever end.”