First came a note from a young man we've known since he was a wee thing. He's come to birthday parties and assorted young-people hangouts at our house, he's cut our grass, and we've taught him in Sunday school. We've watched him become a leader and always tried to encourage him. He wrote us a thank-you note. How many recent college grads do that? My husband handed it to me on the way home from church. I could scarcely get through a sentence without saying "Awwwww" and pressing the card to my chest. What a gift!
Then I was walking through Publix, snapping up the last requirements for Christmas dinner, and saw a young man walking toward me on the arm of a woman I suppose was his mother. He may have had a syndrome with a name, something that gave him small stature and an oddly triangular face that came to a wedge shape at the front. A web of thoughts zipped around my mind: "Poor fellow. It must be hard for him to connect with other people. But good that these days his mother takes him out instead of hiding him away. And there's a human being in there." I smiled at him. As I passed, he reached out and squeezed and patted my arm. The next thing I did was look up and say, "That was one of Yours, wasn't it?" What a gift!
Hanging around in the kitchen, my granddaughter Anna said, "You wanna hear what would be awesome?" Just to be silly, I said, "Nah, I hate awesome." She said, "But then you'd have to hate yourself." I hugged her. What a gift!
Cars? Diamonds? You can keep 'em. I'll take these things any day.