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People
Tell Their Stories:
The Little Tree Kurt A. Fondriest In a forest, of magic and wisdom, of rainbows and fairies, lived a little tree that was smaller, by far, than any other. He knew that his branches were supposed to be strong and always reaching upwards because his mother and father would tell him so. “Little Tree,” they would say, “stretch your branches up to the sun so the birds may come and play music on your limbs.” With all his might, he would try to reach for the sky, but he could not hold his branches high for very long. Little Tree would lean sadly against his mother while he watched all the branches of the other trees of the forest. Birds of all colors and sizes were nesting in their branches and singing praises to the magic of the forest. His own little branches could barely hold his leaves, as they ached with pain. Across the valley
of blue and sunlit flowers, lived an old, wise forest elf. Little Tree’s
mother called upon him to see why her son was having a hard time with
his childhood roots. It was a cloudy day in the forest when he came to
see Little Tree. The silver reflection, from the recent rain, mirrored
his image and his magical bag of potions, on Little Tree’s leaves. The
elf was the wisest soul in the forest; surely he could heal Little Tree.
Wise old elf embraced Little Tree. “Ouch” cried Little Tree. Father tree
started to scold his son “quit being such a little sapling. Let the old
one touch you, he will heal you.” Little Tree started to cry. Wise old
elf said “why do you start a rainstorm on me, Little Tree?” Little tree
turned his leaves so he could better see the magic one. “I hurt from my
roots to the tip of my crown; my branches feel all twisted and
knotted. My trunk feels as if a thousand woodpeckers have been doing
their noisemaking dance on me”. As his tears continued to fall, he said,
“I feel more like a weeping willow than a Wise, old elf stepped back from under Little Tree. He stood there with all his magical devices, rubbing his fingers through his snowy, white beard. The clouds were parting and sunlight started to dance down from the sky, warming the valley. The blessings of the wood fairies could be heard as they gathered on the shoulder of the wise, old elf. One fairy magically whispered in wise, old elf’s ear. “What is wrong with Little Tree? Hurry and fix him so we may color his leaves with the tones of earth for the coming fall.” Wise, old elf held his powerful arms up to the eyes of the creator and asked the forest for guidance. You see, wise old elf could do many things of wonder, but he could not heal Little Tree. To him, this tree looked just liked any other small tree in the forest. He came from strong roots, and from a family of shading grace. Wise, old elf had seen the entire forest grow from the beginnings of time. He remembered the first rain onto this, once barren, field which was now linked together by intertwining branches of love. Little Tree leaned his heavy burdened branches around his mother’s. “I’m so scared because of how I feel. It hurts mommy, and no birds will sing their songs in my branches because I cannot hold my arms to the sky. Why do I have this pain and hurt? It is not fair that no other tree my age feels this way. All I hear is the echo of tree teasing from the others. Sometimes I wish a lumberjack would come along and…..” Just then, a radiant light danced down from the golden spiral in the sky, lighting up the face of wise, old elf. A low humming noise whistled through the valley until it came upon the ear of the old elf. “Little Tree,” spoke wise, old elf. Little Tree turned his leaves, once again, so he could see the old elf. All was silent in the valley. Even the wind had become voiceless. The birds of the forest bowed their heads of feathers in silence. The animals crept up to Little Tree, filled with love for their brave, little branched friend. The fairies surrounded Little Tree, holding circles of light that were reflections of the sun’s warmth. Wise, old elf walked under Little Tree and raised his head, looking upward into his branches. He lifted his hand to touch one of the small, drooping ones. “Do you know why you feel pain in all your branches?” “No,” whispered Little Tree, as his leaves were gently stroked by his mother’s caring branches. The wise, old elf summoned all the forest to listen by singing an ancient forest song. “Golden Light, in the air I breathe, touching all my branches from you to me. We are all branches of the one loving tree. Bless this forest with understanding the pain of our little tree.” “Little Tree,”
spoke wise, old elf, “The name of your pain is “Fibromyalgia.”
The word wound its way throughout the entire forest. “Fibromyalgia is a
painful bark condition. It can make your roots so painful that you will
want to cry, and it is okay to cry. You must understand that maybe your
branches can not hold the birds to make their music, but they can hold
caterpillars until they are born into butterflies. Maybe you will not be
able to reach all your branches to the sky to touch the sun, but earth
needs shade at times and lower branches like yours are perfect
ones. Yes, you will feel pain for no forest is perfect. However; you
must remember you are a Fall came to the forest, and then did winter. Months passed while old elf spent his days doing deeds of good throughout the forest. It was on the first day of May when a purple passion flower fairy landed on old elf’s shoulder. “Ah” said wise old elf. “You come to bring me news of my dear friend Little Tree.” The old elf snuggled the fairy into his vest pocket and said he must journey to see for himself. The fields were mustard yellow and the scent of dandelion blanketed the spring –topped crescents. The winding road seemed steeped for our friend of the ages. As he came through the clearing, clouds of rolling, white peaks cast shadows to the earth below. At the top of the hill stood Little Tree, who was not as little as before. The old wood elf stepped up the hill to the trunk of his dear friend. What he saw was not the same as nearly a year ago. Little Tree turned his leaves so he could greet his long time friend. “Little Tree” exclaimed wise old elf. “Your branches are filled with light-colored butterflies, and your roots blossom the most beautiful flowers that grow in any forest shade.” Little Tree spoke with a voice of confidence and quiet strength. “Old, wise one, take heed of the forest vines that grow around me”. The old elf squinted through his glasses. He saw how the vines of the earth had grown up Little Tree’s limbs and wrapped and secured them with their support. “Wise old elf” spoke little tree, “each day in our forest I awaken in pain. I still pray to the great creator of the forest to take away this spell in hopes that one day my bark will all be well. But I must tell you that there is no pity here, only courage. Courage that comes from my friends of the forest who help me each day with this spell of Fibromyalgia. When the rain comes down too fast and hurts my limbs, the older towering trees will bend their branches over me to keep me dry, and the sun will dance warmth down onto my crown which helps the pain every morning, especially after a night of hurting” Wise, old elf spoke while touching one of Little Tree’s branches. “In our forest, we will someday break this spell. Until then, Little Tree, you overshadow us all with the courage and the strength of the beauty you tell.” And with this, the old, woods elf embraced Little Tree while dancing fairies sang songs of the wood bees. Reverend Kurt
Kondriest,
is a registered art therapist, certified expressive arts therapist, and
Board Certified Holistic Health Practitioner. He himself lives with
fibromyalgia, and works as an art therapist
for people living with various levels of developmental disabilities at
the Misericordia Home North in Chicago,
Illinois. He can be contacted at 773-856-6055
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