Transplanted: Deep Roots, Outstretched Arms

Six years ago, my then 3-year-old ate a messy, juicy, yellow peach.  When he was done, he handed me the slimy pit, and I noticed it was beginning to open to reveal the tiny oval seed.  I peeled the pit open, found a pot, and buried the seed in the brown soil.  It began to slowly grow and after two years it was about two feet high.  We realized that for it to reach its full potential, it would have to be uprooted from its comfortable soil and transplanted to a place that would allow the roots to grow deep, and the branches to grow tall.  

Now it is a tree that stands six feet in height, and is covered with over one hundred baby peaches.  It's producing the very essence of why it exists: peaches. What good is a peach tree without peaches?  Although the pot was beautiful and good, had we kept it there, it would not be as tall or strong, and there would not be as many peaches on it.  

I'm sure if I could ask the peach tree about the process of being transplanted, it would tell me:

"It was very painful.  The roots, oh, the roots.  When you pulled me out, I had some that broke, and I had others that wouldn't let go.  It hurt and my leaves were droopy for a short time.  I still have a history with that pot, and I can see it from where I stand now.  I was comfortable.  I was safe.  But once I got to my new soil and had room to grow, I knew this is where I was supposed to be.  It didn't happen on the first day, or the first month, or even the first year.  The rain and the water had to soothe my roots' pain and sadness, and the sun had to help my arms reach towards it, but eventually my roots went deeper and my arms went higher.  Here I stand from a different perspective.  My branches are heavy with fruit, and in a short time they will be picked and eaten. Winter will come again, but there's always a promise of the Spring and my blossoms that are clothed in bright pink.  Did I tell you that they are fragrant too?  You'll want to come near to smell the blossoms.  And I'll grow taller and my roots will reach deeper, and more peaches will come.  I'm grateful for each day for that pot, but I'm even more grateful for where I stand: for taking a risk and being on this adventure where it's not safe, but growth has happened."   

Makes me think: Sometimes transplanting is not necessary, but other times it just might be.  Where in my life do I need to be transplanted to a place that will allow my roots to grow deeper and arms outstretched farther?  

Our delicious harvest!