It’s amazing how your unconscious mind can paint such vivid pictures. In sleep, they’re called dreams. Last night, my mind painted a picture and I was fortunate enough to remember what it looked like this morning. I remember what I saw, what I felt and I remember being moved.
I saw a little boy with his hand outstretched, in his grip was a wilted flower. The stem, half-crushed, held three withered petals. I saw the boy’s eyes, full of uncertainty, wondering if his gift would be enough.
I felt the pure, unconditional love of a mother as she accepted the gift. I felt her joy as she looked upon the mangled flower as if it were a perfect rose in full bloom. I felt the relief of the little boy as he saw her lips curve into the warmest smile.
I was moved by the mother’s complete and unconditional acceptance and how it made the little boy feel safe and secure.