As I sit here, resting my back against a tall moss covered tree, I scan my surroundings. A mixture of bright green moss, misshaped pinecones, and rust-colored leaves cover the cold hard ground surrounding me. As I look to my right, I see a baby tree. He seems to scream, “pick me, pick me!” Hidden among the fallen leaves the baby tree is very small, not more than three inches tall. His needle covered green branches stretch outwards like the arms of a frightened scarecrow. Surrounding him are much larger trees. The other trees appear similar in color and species to him, but they are different. They are tall and strong, able to withstand most anything that comes their way.

The baby tree is different than his larger companions, he just wants to be seen. He wants to be acknowledged. He feels hidden within his surroundings; hidden within the hustle of the world around him. He feels as if he could disappear and nobody would notice. He doesn’t know how to communicate with everyone around him and fears he will be made fun of for the way he talks. So he doesn’t. He keeps his lips sealed, too afraid to even show off his beautiful smile. He doesn’t realize that he is not alone  on the forest floor. Just a few feet away stands another baby tree. The other baby tree might stand a little bit taller, a little prouder, and a little braver; but he too, struggles. He struggles to be seen among the greatness of the forest.

I have two little friends who share the struggles of the tree. They are kindergartners who only speak Spanish. I have spent many moments with them over the past year and have witnessed their never ending struggle to fit in. I have seen them escape to their cubbies to get away from classmates and get frustrated when others just don’t understand them. One of them has started to come out of hiding and share his voice, but he still struggles to be heard at times. The other has not yet emerged from hiding. He is a turtle, too afraid to come out of his shell. I have tried to coax him out of his shell, but have not yet been successful. It may take awhile, but  I am sure he’ll eventually be talking up a storm right alongside his classmates. Until then I will try to open his shell a little more each day.

Sitting in the forest, I feel a gust of wind and am taken away from my memories with my kindergarteners. I focus on the baby tree and I am drenched in thoughts once again.  This time my thoughts are that the baby tree is a child in foster care, waiting to be chosen by a family. I grew up with grandparents who opened their arms and their hearts to foster children. Even as a small child, I noticed that each child that entered their home, tried to remain emotionally unattached to our family. Many times these children had been uprooted numerous times, they never knew when they would be forced to relocate. The children weren’t the only ones with attachment problems. Sometimes there would be children who would touch the hearts of my family in a special way. One special little boy, whom we referred to as Digger Carrot, came to my grandparents every weekend for a couple summers. He held a special place in all our hearts then and he still does today. Seeing Digger and all of those other special children go was hard for both my family and the kids. After leaving grandma’s house, some of the foster children would eventually grow up in loving families, but others would remain without a forever home. The baby tree is also so vulnerable, much like the children. He is small and his roots aren’t very deep so he could be uprooted in an instant. Many times, foster children are like the baby tree, they don’t have time to plant their roots deep before being uprooted once again. If they do get the opportunity to plant their roots in a permanent place they can grow big and strong.

I realize that the baby tree lives in the shadows of the big trees surrounding him. He has a hard time growing for himself, his light is constantly darkened by his older companions. I live in the shadows of my older siblings. At times, I have found it hard to forge my own path, I feel like I have to live up to the high expectations that they have set. The baby tree will grow on its own terms and I will too.

As I divert my eyes from the little tree, I look up and notice all of the colors of the leaves.

The leaves above my head started out green, but have now changed to shades of yellow, orange, and red. I look around by my legs and notice many leaves have already started to fall.  The fallen leaves have lost their vibrant color and now appear a rust colored brown. The leaves make me realize just how much life changes.

My life is changing. I am preparing to take on new challenges, leave the comfort of my home, and venture out into the unknown. I will no longer be able to turn to my family every moment that I need help. I will have to figure things out on my own.

I may find my calling and become brighter like the orange, yellow, and red leaves. I may struggle and feel like the brown leaves on the forest floor; getting crushed by the challenges. I realize though that the colors of the leaves come in seasons. The colors come in spring and leave in the fall, they are a never ending cycle.

Sometimes their colors shine more vividly, while at times they are dull. Their colorful times are like happy times in my life, while the dull colors are the sad. Change shows there may be ups and downs in life, but no feelings last forever.

I start to stand up from my perch on the ground. As I take one last glance at the baby tree I notice his branches look like arms reaching out to give me a hug as he whispers, “Goodbye, thanks for picking me.” I walk through the forest and am overwhelmed by the huge trees surrounding me. They are intimidating, they reach well above my head into the cloudy blue sky above. I haven’t yet exited the forest, but I am already longing for the comforting reach of the baby tree.