Starting Somewhere

I love my daughter's blog, Living Lockhart. Such a great way to keep track of events and memories. As I am now 59 11/12's it seems I'm full of memories! Something happened this week which has motivated me to record it:

I can just see him, age 5, clutching two quarters and going “by himself” into the big room to shop. It was Thursday School at the Church of Christ in Lubbock where Michael went one day a week. It was the week before Mother’s Day and he had money to shop for a present for me. We had been told there were crocheted towels, hair accessories, refrigerator magnets and more, in case we wanted to drop a hint to our little one. I’m so glad I resisted the urge because I wanted to see what he picked out. A few minutes later he emerged holding a brown paper bag with a ribbon around it, and with a funny smile on his sweet face. Even then he wanted to give me a Papa Quinn-style hint, but instead he made me open it as soon as we got home because he was “worried” about it. (Good heavens! Was it something alive? It didn’t squirm or make a noise, but I gingerly opened the bag anyway) Inside was a miniature terrarium! A glass jar about 5 inches tall, including the lid. There was a little potting soil and 2 or 3 tiny plants. It was gorgeous! Michael was so very proud of himself! I was amazed at his good taste! I kept the plants alive for a few months, but they succumbed to my only occasionally green thumb. But that darling jar! I’ve had it for 35 years through many moves and for several uses. For most of these years, though, it has held cotton balls on my bathroom vanity. I can’t begin to count all the times I’ve looked at it and been reminded of my son’s sweet, giving spirit.

Today Olga, my cleaning lady sheepishly came to show me something. It was the pretty lid for the jar, broken into shards. She felt bad about it, but not nearly as bad as I do. I didn’t get mad at her; I know it was an accident. But right now there are tears at the back of my eyes. I know the dear Lord doesn’t want us to hold things too dearly. I know Michael probably doesn’t even remember giving it to me. My darling boy has a five-year-old boy of his own now. Time just keeps going by.

But I’m not going to throw the rest of it away. Maybe I’ll put a small plant in it and give it a new use, similar to the original. And no matter what, I’ll always have that image in my mind of a cute little guy, blue eyes wide with hope that I would like his gift. What a blessing!