Adoption Week e-Magazine Article
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The Tree of Yet-to-Come
Jessica A. Tarbox
Once upon a time, a long time ago, a man and a woman lived with their seven children in a small village at the edge of a forest. According to village tradition, on the day the man and woman were married, they planted a special tree behind their home. This tree, grown from the seed of its ancient mother, the Tree of Yet-to-Come, in the town’s center, was rumored to bring happiness, health and tranquility. If planted on the day of a couple’s wedding, it also was said to sprout one branch for each child that would grace the union, and each child’s branch would bloom only when the child was preparing to turn a major corner in his life.
As the years passed, the children’s branches began to bloom. Some bloomed earlier than others, some bloomed more often than others, but in time every branch was lush with the soft green leaves of life’s transformations.
All except one.
The middle daughter was beloved by all who knew her. She was giving and selfless, and when she glanced out at her bare branch every morning, she was not troubled. “Perhaps,” she thought, “I am destined to walk a straight path in my life, and that is not a tragedy, for I am blessed with my father and mother and brothers and sisters.”
One morning, the middle daughter looked out the window at the Tree of Yet-to-Come, as she did every morning, and there on the end of her branch was a splendid yellow rose. Startled, she rushed out to touch it, and the rose indeed was real. The sudden growth of such a beautiful flower confused her, because all her brothers’ and sisters’ branches were covered in large green leaves- not one blossomed into a flower. She was surprised, but the rose was so lovely she could not be frightened by this strange outcome.
She prayed for answers, and that night she dreamt of two women. One came running to her in anxiety and fear, faceless and speaking words that the middle daughter could not understand. The woman seemed to be lost, but when the middle daughter tried to comfort her, the woman simply turned and fled. Soon after, the second woman appeared at her side, and the middle daughter recognized the elegance and calm of this woman she had not seen for many years.
“I am not the godmother you will find in fairy tales,” the second woman said. “I am not here to determine your fate with a magic pumpkin and glass slippers. I am only here to guide you around the corner your branch has foreseen. Your path has been straight for so long because this is the sharpest turn you will make in your life, but you are not alone. Tomorrow you will take a long journey and encounter your destiny on that road – you will know it when you feel it. I will be with you, so do not be frightened.”
At this, the middle daughter awoke. Inspired by the anxiety of the first woman and the words of the second, she set out on the road that led far away, deep into a different land. She walked for hours, and near sunset, as her shoulders sagged in despair and she was very close to turning back, she heard whispers like those of the first woman in her dream. She stopped in the path and listened, and as the foreign words filled her ears, she heard another sound, a sound like rich laughter and tears, as if someone could not decide what to feel.
The middle daughter walked a little ways down the path, and there, around a sharp bend in the road, was a baby, laughing and crying. She was alarmed that this baby was lost and began to call for its parents, but the only sound she heard were those foreign words coming from somewhere behind her. And suddenly, she magically began to understand what that fear- and hope-filled voice was saying to her:
“My baby’s life is your life now. I have loved her but she is meant for you. Please help her.”
The middle daughter picked up the baby, immediately loved her, and started for home. The foreign words slowly faded but would resonate in their memories as if from a long-lost dream. The middle daughter knew that the godmother in her dream had told the truth – this baby was the reason her path had been so straight, and that this corner would be the greatest joy of her life. And as she arrived home, she glanced out at the Tree of Yet-to-Come again, and there alongside the yellow rose had blossomed another, bright red rose.
This fable was written by J. Tarbox, for her Aunt Lynn on the baptism day of Lynn’s daughter, Vivian Rose, adopted from China in October 2002.
