Showing posts with label allegory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label allegory. Show all posts

July 24, 2025

The Gardener and the King ~ Valerie Ronald

                                                                               image credit Pixabay


I once was asked to write something for a friend’s eightieth birthday celebration. I struggled to write something meaningful, but nothing I put on paper seemed fitting. My friend was a veteran of World War 2 who suffered for years with the aftereffects of what he experienced, until he accepted Jesus Christ and found the healing and peace he longed for. He became an avid gardener who generously shared his bountiful fruits and vegetables with all those he knew.

Not long before the birthday party, the phrase “all things growing and green” popped into my mind, and I knew what I wanted to do with it. It reminded me of the quaint language of fables or fairy tales, so I wrote an allegorical story about my friend.

An allegory is a simple story in which the characters and events represent a deeper moral or abstract concept. Aesop’s Fables, John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, and the biblical parables told by Jesus, are well-known examples of allegorical stories. I admit that I did not know a lot about allegorical writing, but with God’s help, the elements of the story came together to make a fitting gift reflecting the life of my friend.
 

                                     The Gardener and the King

There once was a king who loved all things growing and green. He would go often into his kingdom to gaze upon meadow grasses rippling in a breeze or walk through a grove of tall, whispering pine trees. He liked to stop by the orchards and vegetable farms to taste their fresh produce and spend time in village flower gardens drinking in the beautiful scents and colours. When he returned to his palace on the hill, he would look out over his fruitful kingdom and with satisfaction proclaim, “It is good.”

One day the king’s son, a brave and noble prince, was riding in the wastelands beyond the borders of his father’s kingdom. Nothing good grew there. It was a brown, desolate place where people lived unhappy lives. His father sent him there often to invite these unhappy people to come live in his kingdom, but they seemed to want to stay in their squalor, so they refused the king’s kindness.

This day, however, the prince did return with a man who had realized how fruitless his life was in the desolate lands and was willing to live under the rule of the kind king. He was given a small field and a cottage. He married a gentle woman from a nearby village, and they made a happy home together. The man wanted to do something to please the ruler who had treated him so kindly, so knowing how much the king liked all things growing and green, he planted a garden. And what a garden it was! In his garden grew tall stalks of tasselled corn, round red tomatoes, earthy brown potatoes, bunches of wine dark grapes, crisp crimson apples, and bright flowers in abundance.

The man became known as the Gardener, and throughout the kingdom gained recognition for sharing his bountiful produce. Every morning during harvest his neighbours would see him going down the lane with his cart heaped high with fresh fruits and vegetables, on his way to share what he had grown with widows and their children, the bedridden and the elderly, and anyone else in need.

In the afternoon he returned to his garden, labouring until twilight, at peace with his hands in the soil. As he worked, he would think of the kind king who had rescued him and brought him into this abundant land, and he would sing a little song of gratitude.

One year the winter rains were sparse, and the king’s land was struck with a terrible drought. There was barely enough water for people to drink, let alone water a garden. The Gardener went out to his dry, dusty garden where nothing grew, wondering sadly what he could do to help all his friends in need. He decided to do his rounds anyway.

Instead of produce, he offered his hands˗˗cutting wood, fixing broken items, visiting with the sick, and helping wherever he saw a need. But each evening he would come home to the barren patch of land that used to be his garden, wondering what the king would say when he passed by and saw no green and growing things.

The day came when the king rode throughout his kingdom to see how his people were faring. He saw the Gardener standing by his empty garden, his head bowed down in sadness

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” he said. “As you can see, I have nothing in my garden to offer you or anyone else.”

The king reached down and lifted the Gardener’s chin so he could look into his eyes.

“This is not the only garden you have sown, my steadfast Gardener. I have been in the village where I have seen the fruits of your labour˗˗widows and their children kept warm with wood you have cut, elders’ homes set right by your repairs, and the sick cheered by your visits. The fruits of your loving spirit are abundant. Well done, good and faithful servant. Because you have been faithful with a little, I will reward you with much.”

Then the king brought the Gardener and his wife to live with him in his palace, and when the drought ended, the Gardener happily tended the royal gardens for many years. Though he was now the King’s Gardener, he still grew vegetables, fruit, and flowers in his own little garden patch in the village, to share with those in need. At each humble house, he told stories about the kindness of the king and his love for his people. And he taught them the song he liked to sing when he gardened, so when the king rode down the village streets he heard joyous voices singing,

King of kindness, king of love,

From your palace high above,

You come down to walk with us,

Laugh with us, grieve with us.

Our hearts grow because we know

We are your children here below.

   

Valerie Ronald writes from an old roll top desk in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, with her tortoiseshell cat for a muse. A graduate of Langara College School of Journalism, she writes devotionals, fiction and inspirational prose. Her purpose in writing is to encourage others to grow in their spiritual walk


June 13, 2023

Fun with Fiction by Steph Beth Nickel

 



I am in the process of writing a YA speculative fiction book, Rule and Reign. One of the characters my critique partner particularly likes in a young boy who is always running wherever he goes.

Below is the scene in which he's introduced. I hope you enjoy it!

After traveling almost as far as my old room, I’m still so focused on convincing myself that I have every right to explore the castle that I nearly fail to sidestep a young boy, no more than seven sun-cycles old, who comes dashing around the corner and almost collides with me. He pulls up short and his jaw drops. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness. I… I… Please don’t tell my ma. She’s always scolding me fer running in the halls. But then, she scolds me fer being late.” He exhales loudly and looks away. “I don’t understand.” He’s rocking back and forth. I doubt he’s used to standing still for any more than a few measures.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Todd, Your Highness.”

I smile widely. “It sounds a lot like my father’s name. His name was Trad.”

“Oh, I know.” He bounces up and down. “He was my hero. He was strong and brave and kind.” More quietly he adds, “And he never told Ma when he found me running through the halls.”

I laugh. Todd’s head snaps up. “You laughed. Ma says royals don’t do that—no one ’cept Prince Trad.” 

“It will be our secret. Okay?”

Todd nods his head vigorously. 

“So, Todd, where were you off to just now?”

“Ma said I could go t’ the stables. My best friend works there. He just cleans up after the horses, but sometimes, he gets to watch the soldiers train if he does an extra good job.”

“The stables, huh? Would you mind if I came along?”

The boy puts his still-chubby hands on his hips. “Princess, this is yer castle. The stable and horses are yers too. You can go anywhere ya want.”

“Well, Todd, I guess you’re right. Then, it’s off to the stables we go.”

“And you won’t tell my ma I was running?”

“If you won’t tell my grandmother I was laughing.”

“That’s easy. The Council Lead doesn’t know I ’xist.”

I sigh. That’s probably true. “Now, let’s go see some horses.”

“I don’t s’pose you want to run. Do you?” he adds, eyes wide.

I shake my head. “It’s probably best if the Princess of Betria isn’t seen running in the halls.”

He shrugs and sighs. “I guess.”