"Our family recently spent a week hiking the temperate rain forest region of Washington’s Olympic Peninsula. To my wife and me, all trails have their own beauty. My son Jacob, however, seems only to appreciate those that have some adventure: rock climbing, stream crossing, jumping small crevices, or anything with the risk of some injury.

"Fortunately for him, the Pacific coast area near La Push offered some trails that required climbing ladders and holding ropes, and most every hike gave him the opportunity to climb, scramble, and jump on and over the felled Douglas Firs and western red cedars that dominate the region.

"The trees of the rainforest reminded me of parents. Some were strong, proud, and upright—providing shelter in their massive trunks from the elements or predators. Others seemed to be making the most of a tough situation—assigned by fate to fragile soil or a precarious location—yet spreading their roots enough to stay upright and weather the recurring storms.

"The ones that Jacob enjoyed most, and the ones that were most striking, however, were those on the ground—the fallen. While prone, they bore no humiliation. In fact, their decay often formed the bed for new seedlings, which were rising with an alacrity and determination that transformed the ruins into thriving nurseries.

"It was a reminder that my vision of parenthood is far too narrow. Growth and nourishment can occur even when we’ve fallen down."

Comforting thought. Do you agree?