Her Gift

Her bus stop is at the end of the street. So, I stand on my porch and watch until she boards. Her sister leaves the house before the sun rises, so this daughter stands alone at the corner. I watch her every morning. I hold this feeling within me that if I keep my eye on her, without wavering, she will remain safe.


She insists on arriving at the corner far too early. She likes to stand there and wait. I plead for her to stay inside and wait, but her energy can not be contained. She skips to the bus stop.

She has discovered these light, delicate flowers that grow amongst the weeds at the corner. She gathers them and brings them to me. Every morning. She brings a few at a time, always running or skipping along the way.


I hold them in my hand. She returns again and again until she is satisfied with her gift. I know that these flowers will wilt within the hour, so I hold them gently, treasuring what she gives me.

Each child arrives in our lives bearing different gifts. Some are challenging, some are thrilling, and others are hard to see. As a mother, I try with all my soul to see the gifts they offer. Some days I can't seem to look beyond all the challenging stuff, and their gifts go unnoticed.

But then there are the moments where she brings her gift directly to me. She skips down the street and lays it in my hand. No effort required. I only have to accept the beauty she brings.

So, every morning I stand at the ready. I watch her gather her gift. I watch her run toward me. I watch, and watch and watch. The gift she gives is mine forever.