To me, it was just a flower.

    To me, it was just a flower. A daisy. No big deal. I've seen a million of them. They're pretty but nothing spectacular.

 

 

    To you? It was magic. This new, brightly colored, soft thing that you'd never seen before was suddenly the object of your affection. You clutched it in your hand, turning it over and around as you marveled at it. You held on to it as I strolled you across the square. You were still in awe half an hour later when it was time to leave. When I pried it out of your hand to put you in your car seat, you cried. I put it on the top of the car and strapped you in your seat, where you continued to squawl. I didn't want to run the risk of you eating it (or choking on it) on the way home, but what the heck--I gave it back to you. You calmed down immediately and smiled. I didn't hear a peep out of you the whole way home. When we parked in the garage, I went to get you out and you were fast asleep, the purple daisy pretty much destroyed by now, but still clutched in your precious, tiny hand. I laid you down for a nap, and then I went to my bedroom to cry. And pray.

 

    The little things I think nothing of are everything to you. I realized it was your first time to see a flower up close, and I merely shrugged this off, just happy that you were entertained. I prayed for you, my little one, and then I prayed that God make me more like you. If I could be as amazed at the beauty around me each day as you were by one little flower, I'd probably be in pretty good shape.

 

    Someday, for whatever reason, someone will tell you to take time to stop and smell the flowers, and I'll be there to tell you about a time when you did. Never stop appreciating the beauty in the small things, my precious love.

 

Mom