Apples Not Oranges

My family thinks I’m an orange tree.

Because I have reconciled myself to the Roman Catholic Church, they think I’ve abandoned my faith. I believe I have fulfilled it.

As a child, my parents tilled the soil to create fertile ground. They planted the seed of faith in the right place in the yard to get plenty of rain and sunshine and nurtured it along with mulch and soil conditioner. My Faith sprouted and grew into a sapling.

The Catholic Church came along and added fertilizer. And they took out pruning shears and gave me a good clipping. And after a while (a long while, if you’ve read my story), my tree branched out and grew stronger and now is bearing fruit – tiny green apples at first that have matured (I hope) into beautiful, juicy, shiny red apples.

Not oranges.

My parents taught me that Jesus is the Christ, Son of the Living God.
They taught me right from wrong and that sin is deadly.
They taught me to pray, to love, to care for those who are in need.
And they taught me to love God with all my heart, mind, body and soul.

I still believe these things.

An apple tree can’t bear oranges. The seed my parents planted contained the fullness of the apple tree, hidden in the tiny kernel. They did the ground work, laid the foundation, passed down the gift of love for God and man.

When my family ridicules me because of my Faith, it’s as if a mighty storm blows through and some of my apples fall from the tree. They sit on the ground, battered and bruised, rotting in the sun.

Thanks be to God for those few friends who know how to gather the windfall and help me make apple pie!

And the apples that rot? It’s not always easy to remember, certainly not immediately after a recent storm, but the apples that rot will eventually go to seed. And it’s possible that a new apple tree will spring up from the ground and grow into a sapling. It can then be nurtured, fertilized and later, bear fruit.

But in the midst of the storm of suffering, they can’t see that I’m still an apple tree.