THE VOICE WITHIN

THE VOICE WITHIN

Once upon a mountain top, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to be when they grew up. Looking up at the bejewelled night sky, the first little tree said: “I want to hold gold, to be filled with precious stones. I’ll be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!”

The second little tree looked out at the small stream babbling along its way to the ocean. “I want to traverse the oceans, carrying mighty kings. I’ll be the strongest ship in the world!”, it said.

The third little tree looked into the valley below where people went about their work in a bustling town. “I want to stay here and grow so tall that when people down there look up at me, they’ll raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world!”, it said.

Years passed, the little trees grew tall. Then came the woodcutters. One of them looked at the first tree and said, “It is beautiful, just perfect for me”. With a swoop of his ax, the first tree fell. “Now I shall hold wonderful treasure!”, it thought excitedly.

Another woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, “It is strong, fits my purpose.” With a swing of his ax, the second tree fell. “Now I shall be a strong ship for mighty kings!”, it exulted.

The third tree trembled when the last woodcutter looked its way. It stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter did not even look up. “Any tree will do for me,” he muttered, and cut it down.

When it was brought to a carpenter’s shop, the first tree rejoiced. But it was fashioned into a feedbox, to be filled with hay for farm animals. The second tree was taken to a shipyard, sawed and hammered into a humble fishing boat, and tied beside a lake. The third tree was chopped up into strong beams and left in a lumberyard. “What happened?”, it wondered sadly, “All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountain top and point to God...”

Time flowed by. The three trees had long forgotten their dreams. But one night, magical starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn in the smooth and sturdy feedbox. “I wish I could make a cradle for him,” her husband whispered. She smiled, “This manger is beautiful.” And suddenly the first tree knew it was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

One evening a tired traveler and his companions crowded into the old fishing boat. Soon a storm arose. The second tree despaired of being strong enough to carry them safely over the roiling lake. Then the tired man awakened, stretched out his hand and said, “Peace.” The storm ceased at once. And in a flash the second tree knew it was carrying the King of Earth and Heaven.

Then came a fateful Friday. The third tree was startled when its beams were pulled from the forgotten woodpile. It flinched as it was carried through an angry, jeering crowd; it shuddered when soldiers nailed a man’s hands and feet onto it; it felt ugly and harsh and cruel.

But the next Sunday morning, as the sun rose and the earth beneath trembled with joy, the third tree knew that God’s love had changed everything. It had made the third tree strong. And henceforth, every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God.

That was better than being the tallest tree in the world.

— the harbinger

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Sentinel Assam
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