For some reason, I’m always looking for metaphors like some people search for four-leaf clovers.  

In August there was a bad storm, and lightning struck the steeple of a church in a town just down the road. The church caught fire, and despite the valiant efforts of several volunteer fire companies, it was a total loss. 

I drove by the charred carcass a couple of days later and was dismayed to see the ruins. It seems extra sad when a church is destroyed, for whatever reason.  There was, however, an incongruity that I couldn’t quite place until the second time that I drove by.

They had suffered the flames, the heat, the smoke, the intensive fire-hose drenching, all that onslaught on that terrible night, and yet the black-eyed Susans, the pink hibiscus, the lilies, the geraniums, and the dusty millers that some caring person had planted in the spring right in front of the church… 

well, they had survived and they were thriving.

I’ll leave it to you to fill in your own metaphor here, and I thank you for reading this.