I've been studying about the olive tree allegory in the Book of Mormon and found my thoughts drifting to my own Olive. We named her Olive, with the symbolism of peace. I think perhaps we picked the wrong child. Or perhaps it's just her age, but I find myself struggling to know how to parent her. If something is not to her liking, she deflates and howls. On the other hand, when she enjoys something, she is the happiest, sweetest girl.
Transforming a wild olive tree into a good and productive one takes 5 years, but for it to produce fully, it takes 15. They live for 100 years, if properly cared for. The amazing thing about olive trees is once they begin to die, they send up shoots from their roots to continue the cycle. It is said that through this regeneration, there are olive trees now that existed at the time of Christ.
So, my Olive needs a firm hand, but a loving one. Easier said than done, especially when I tell her not to pour water in the car and that's what she does just 2 seconds later. Or when we are all kneeling for prayers (even Azure) and she's rolling around giggling or climbing up Ryan's back. Or when she makes Azure scream over and over and over. Pruning with care is what Olive requires. I love her with everything I have, and remember that especially when she's sleeping.