I vaguely remember the day she put the seed in the ground. I was cutting fruit in the kitchen, and Olivia reached up her little hand asking for the apple seeds. A few months later, she spotted a tiny sprout in our garden box on the back deck.
“My tree!” she smiled. Joel and I looked at each other, bewildered, asking the other if they’d been watering it. Two years later, this miracle tree has outgrown its planter-box home, so we asked my parents if we could transplant it in their yard. When we arrived, my father hesitated before putting it into the ground. He mentioned how this young tree had gone through trauma, being uprooted, and needed to stay in its current container for now.
My dad called an expert who encouraged us to keep it moist and wait until fall to plant it.
This tree has felt symbolic since the day I saw a sprout come out from the ground where my daughter’s hands dug a small hole. Right now, I’m waiting for some prayers to be answered. Like this season of my life, this story is not finished yet. It is only the beginning, but I keep hearing God whisper to my heart: “Wait, watch and see.”
Olivia is eager with anticipation, and to be honest, so am I. If you are waiting to see fruit, I join you today.