A Story of Beauty

Once there was a man who planted a magnificent garden. He spent hours every day cultivating, weeding, watering, trimming and fertilizing. His garden contained a wide variety of plants and trees, flowers and vines. It brought him great joy to watch them flourish under his care.

When he wasn't working in it, he enjoyed strolling through the labyrinth of pathways to delight in the fruit of his labor. Each and every plant had a special place in his heart, because he had chosen them and arranged them according to his own design.

At the end of his favorite garden path, he would always wind up at the flowerbeds. There he had placed a bench so he could sit and gaze at the flowers until the light began to fade. He loved his flowerbeds for many reasons. They were always changing. There was always a new blossom to see from day to day and season to season. And he was always amazed by how different they all were.

Some had large, colorful blossoms, and some were small and delicate. Some would produce only one intricate blossom at a time, while others had too many to count. And some bloomed once a year, or even, once in their lifetime, while others bloomed all year round.

Everyday as he sat and admired his flowers, and he would talk to them. He was one of those people who really believed that his "beauties" listened to his voice and grew faster and stronger because of it.

One day, this gardener thought what joy it would bring to his friends and family if they could stroll through his garden with him. So he decided to host a garden party. Everyone who was invited anxiously awaited that special day. They were very eager to see what the gardener had been spending all of his time working on. 

When all of the guests had arrived, the gardener started the tour of his immense garden on the very same pathway that he took every day. As they walked, he pointed out all of the different varieties and called them by name. The guests were amazed by the size of his garden and the amount of work it must have taken for him to do it all alone.

As the guests rounded the last corner, they came upon the flowerbeds. For a moment, all talking ceased as they stared at the gorgeous display. At first, there were no words to describe what they saw. Then, as if the floods gates had been opened, the compliments poured out. They absolutely loved the flowers. The guests talked on and on about the colors and fragrances and blossoms. The gardener received many praises for his arrangement and choice of flowers.

The gardener was so pleased as he took it all in. He knew that others would enjoy his garden as much as he did. And, to his well-trained eye, he could see that the flowers were listening too. They seemed to be perking-up at the sound of all those voices praising their beauty.

Then, something unexpected happened. As the guests continued to talk about the flowers, the gardener realized that the conversation had changed. They had begun comparing the flowers, one to another. Before he knew it, they had picked their favorite. Everyone agreed that the red roses were the most beautiful of all the flowers.


This confused the gardener, because he had never thought to compare them. They were all so beautiful in their own unique way, that it seemed impossible to him to favor one over the other. As he listened to his guests, he heard things like:

"See, the daffodils are not quite as pretty, because red is a much more vibrant color than yellow."

 "And the daisies just seem less elegant than the rose, because of those little, tiny petals."

"Oh yes! And those lilies are entirely too large to be considered the most beautiful!"

"That's true. And what about those sunflowers? They are
so much taller than the rest..."

"Mmhmm...and what are those tiny ones? You can hardly see them at all!"



The gardener started to become annoyed, and he tried to think of what to say. They had it all wrong, and he needed to change their minds. But before he had time to say a word, he took a closer look at his beloved blossoms. To his dismay, he realized that the flowers must be hearing these comments too, because many of them had begun to wilt.

The gardener was usually a kind and gentle man, but on this occasion, he became very angry. He sternly rebuked his guests for criticizing his flowers and insulting him. Then he curtly asked them to leave.

Once they were all gone, he came back to his poor, wilted flower bed. He sat there on the bench and began to talk to them once more. He singled them out one-by-one and told them how unique they were, emphasizing their beautiful attributes. At first, there seemed to be no response, and he feared that those careless comments may have done too much damage.



But he didn't quit trying. All through the night, he sat with his flowers, speaking sweet words of love and encouragement. As the sun began to rise, he could see that some of the stems had grown straighter, and some of the blossoms had turned toward the sound of his voice. But so many of the others had continued to wilt, and blossoms had begun to fall.

To this day, the gardener continues to try to undo the damage by lovingly caring for these flowers. It breaks his heart to realize, however, that the only reason that some have ceased to bloom is because that have chosen to quit listening to his voice.