Yesterday, my daughter turned thirteen.
We had some guests over to celebrate, and amidst the festivities, a gift that her father bought her before he died broke. The gift had meant a lot to my daughter, and it was a sharp reminder of his absence when it broke. We all felt a bit emotional.
Then, this morning, I woke up to the sound of rattling in the kitchen. When I got out of bed to investigate, I found my 7-year-old baby, sprawled on the kitchen floor with garbage bin contents strewn around. The little one was sifting through al the debris to locate all the broken bits. I sat down and together, we put together my daughter's gift by the time she woke up.
Today, I've tasted a bit of true goodness and feel content with the world!