Blog

Mira and her grandfather stood beside the same tree that once bent under the weight of the storm. The wind had stilled, the branches had healed, and tiny blossoms now danced in the light.

“Grandfather,” Mira said softly, “is this tree strong because it withstood the storm?”

Her grandfather rested a hand on the bark. “That’s part of it,” he said. “But true strength isn’t just about surviving force. It’s about what grows after.”

She looked up, tracing the sturdy branches. “Like the roots that held during the storm?”

He smiled. “Exactly. Strength is rooted in what lies beneath the surface. It is quiet, steady, and often unseen. It doesn’t shout—it endures.”

He guided her to a fallen branch on the ground, cracked and brittle. “This one broke because it was rigid. But the tree bent, absorbed the wind, and found its shape again.”

“So strength can be soft?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, and firm. Soft like forgiveness. Firm like commitment. Strength is choosing not to give in to bitterness. It’s holding onto purpose when things are heavy. It’s what keeps us grounded—like the roots—when life tries to shake us.”

Mira thought for a while. “But how do we grow stronger?”

“Through reflection,” he said. “When we look at what tested us and ask, ‘What did I learn?’ Each time we do that, we deepen our roots.”

She smiled. “And then our branches grow wider?”

“Wider, and wiser,” he said. “That’s the secret. The strongest trees aren’t just tall—they nourish others. They become shelter, they bear fruit, they make space for life.”

As the wind stirred gently again, Mira reached out to touch the tree’s trunk.

“It’s quiet now,” she said.

“Strength often is,” he replied.

She looked up. “So what grows next?”

He smiled. “Perhaps… courage. The strength to reach further than we’ve ever reached before. And that is where we will go next.”