Treasures in My Pocket

This morning I noticed that the pockets in my favorite fleece jacket starting to jingle. When I looked inside, it made me pause. Most everything was a “gift” from my youngest, my five year old daughter.

Most of the time, I accept her offerings with a smile and a thank you, stuff them in my pockets, and keep going with my grown-up tasks. But today as I took inventory, I felt the almost unbearable sweetness of these interactions --

• A handful of pennies she brought me to “buy” something from her, and the change she gave me in return
• A tiny picture of a white cat, which she gave me because she knew I had a white cat that I loved when I was little
• A gorgeous petite stripey snail shell, from a huge bottle of which she fell in love with at Goodwill one day, and have since decorated random places all over the house

There are more, of course, more mundane -- the abandoned barrettes in my purse, the crayons that couldn’t be parted with at the restaurant, a sparkly rock from a parking lot.

For whatever reason, today I could feel the deeper feeling behind these interactions. The strong desire to learn how to navigate this realm, with all its quirks and complications. A gesture to acknowledge my own loves and losses. The trust that I can take care of something precious to her. The intense childhood wonder at the beauty all around us.

I feel in awe of the profound trust we have in each other, as souls, when we undertake this mother-child bond. That despite the undeniable rough spots, the moments of doubt and frustration, there is something truly beautiful there -- a belief that we can help each other to grow, to be taken care of, to learn to love.

I think I’ll keep a few of these treasures in my pockets, to remind me.