“But God planted this tree here,” he whispered. “It would do no good for it to wither because this soil is too hard and this place too common. God gave it the ability to be fine and full and beautiful, but not the ability to go somewhere else.” Laying my hand in my lap, he dried the tears from my face. “We are like this lilac tree. We cannot change where God has put us. If we are to bloom at all, we must bloom where we have been planted.”
