A Perfect Story

Once upon a time, in a perfect world, lived a young family. Because everything in this world was perfect, the family was perfect too. A strong father, a kind mother, and a sweet daughter. They lived together in a perfect little house made out of logs with window shutters the color of the sky. They mother and daughter spent their day tending the gardens and the house, riding through the fields on their horses, and most importantly, waiting with anticipation for father to come home from work. When he was home, things were even more, if possible, perfect.

There was an old, old,very old oak tree behind their little house, and at his broad base grew a patch of wild roses. The roses were perfect as can be, or so everyone thought. One day, the daughter was out playing and she decided to pick one of the roses to bring home to mother. As she skipped up to the oak, she noticed suddenly that it seemed to be leaning over the roses, almost sheltering them. She wondered why the old oak was being protective. Perhaps he didn't want her to pick a rose! She thought about it for a while, and then thought about how beautiful and perfect the pale red rose would look in her mother's kitchen. She gathered up her courage and ran up to the rose and grabbed it off the bush. She gave a shriek of surprise and of pain, because the rose had a thorn and a drop of blood glittered like a tiny brilliant ruby on her finger. This was not a perfect rose! The oak seemed to shake his branches in displeasure and the daughter with one last glance at the tree, took off running back home. The rose was put into a vase on the kitchen counter and though it did look marvelous, it somehow, was not perfect because of the band-aid that now sat on the daughter's finger.

After this, life went on in the normal way, but slowly, things started changing. Life didn't seem quite the same. Some days, the daughter noticed sadness on her parent's faces. Finally, after asking them about it, she discovered that her parents desired another child. A sibling for her to love and share. This seemed like a perfect addition to their family. The only problem was, that there was no child to be had. After many years of watching her parents slowly loose hope, the daughter went back to the old oak tree. The tree still stood, broad and craggy, protecting its little bush of fragile, yet very thorny roses. Please, she begged the old oak, is there anyway that my parents can get their wish? The oak rustled his leaves, and she heard the wind say as it was passing through, yes, yes, yes. She clapped her hands in joy, but then the oak grew still and as it creaked, the earth seemed to say as it trembled, it's hard, it's hard, it's hard, imperfect, imperfect, imperfect. The daughter was confused, and a little bit angry, how could things be hard and imperfect in this perfect world? She went home and forgot all about it.

One day, when it wasn't early, but wasn't too late yet the mother and father finally were granted a child. They were ecstatic because finally their heart's wish was coming true. But somehow, for some reason, things were not perfect. Something unfathomable happened, and their brand new baby, the one that was supposed to make everything more perfect, was very wrong. How could it have happened, the family cried, how? That night, the daughter took her baby brother to the oak tree. She laid down a sheepskin next to the rose bush, and put the sad and fitful infant upon it. The mother and father watched her and for the first time in their lives, felt real fear and grief. Why, why, their hearts cried, why? The oak swayed and creaked, but the wind and earth was silent.

Everything was still.  A crimson drop fell from the daughter's finger as she gently put a rose next to the baby. Then they heard the wind: Yes? It seemed to ask. A question, and it demanded an answer: yes? Can they, will they, except imperfection into their life? Can they, will they, learn to love unconditionally, against all odds, against the expected norms of their perfect world? Can they, will they, make the imperfect perfect through acceptance? The baby on the grass at the foot of the oak raised his eyes up to where the branches met the sky and the family saw the stars twinkling in his bright blue irises. The oak shook and creaked, and then, when the mother, father, and daughter knelt by him, next to the precious son lying in the grass, he sheltered his branches over them and kept them safe from the cold night air.  For each beat in their hearts seemed to say, yes, yes, YES!