Outside the rain began, a gentle breeze lifting the leaves on the spring foliage of budding bushes that were visible through the open window. The birds were nestled in the trees waiting for the shower to cleanse the air before nightfall. If one listened intently they would hear the whispers of the birds as they shared news about the storm’s passing. Now a hush came across the land.

Inside the tall man was bent over His work table. He was thin and lithe with a faultless physique. His nose was thin, aquiline; His dark hair grew naturally and at times brushed His cheeks as He bent over the table working intently. His fingers were long and perfectly formed; the hands of a piano maestro. They moved with great confidence as first one ingredient, and then another was added to the translucent container. It was evident that great vigilance was exercised as He completed the task. Confidently He sealed the container and placed it lovingly in a special space He had created earlier. Absolute perfection was required for this new creation to grow properly. Great caution had been used in ensuring that the temperature, lighting, humidity and everything that was necessary to grow was perfect for this hybrid. 450 bushmaster ammo

“I think that is perfect,” the well-modulated, deep, almost melodic voice floated across the room, caressing the contents of the container. He was pleased; He was the master of creation and always used the same measure of care when starting any new creation. His creations were all hybrids, with not a single one the same as the one before. It is impossible for many to imagine this was possible simply judging by the sheer numbers of His one of kind hybrids. But He insisted on this and had never failed in His quest. Imagine this to be the workshop of our Creator as each individual is carefully tended until, like the seedlings, they are ready to emerge and be transplanted to the soil they would continue their path on… their birth.

Each of us begins life with a master plan of perfection. As years pass many are transplanted, through no fault of their own, into soil that may not be as fertile or nurturing as their beginnings; it affects the final outcome. Some cling by reaching out to grow onto one another, imagining they are not strong enough to survive alone. Others may have been transplanted into situations where violence and condemnation became a way of life causing them to stop growing to their potential of perfection. So many potentials change when we emerge to begin our life.

Just as the magnificent California Redwood trees seed was divided and transplanted to become the tiny gnarled Bonsai tree, one was planted where it could grow to its greatest heights, the other in a smaller contained space where it was constantly cut back and forced to remain small. This happens in life; some are planted where they can grow while others are planted where they are forced to remain small and feel insignificant. Both are beautiful, but one has been forced into a different plan.