A GIFT
Long ago, when a princess was born, queens would summon fairies to bless the child. By this time, the fairies had vanished, and one queen took it upon herself to give the gifts in their place.
Under a silver moon, she dressed her newborn in a white gown and carried her deep into the forest, along a mossy path where shadows clung to the trees. The wind stirred the pines, whispering as if warning her. On and on she walked until she reached a quiet glen. There, on a bed of pine needles, she laid the baby and lit a single candle, its flame trembling in the night.
With her head bowed, she spoke her wishes, each word a careful spell:
“My daughter, I wish for you a small voice, that no one may hear enough to wound you with their judgment.
I wish for you never to be remarkable, that envy and jealousy may never darken your door.
And I wish for you only modest dreams, that the sharp sting of failure may never reach your heart.”
She bent low and kissed her daughter’s forehead. The child slept, unknowing, as the candle flame flickered and died. The queen lingered, sensing the weight of her own fears flowing into the night, and knew she had cloaked her daughter in the only protection she had ever known: a shield against a world that might hurt her.
Long ago, when a princess was born, queens would summon fairies to bless the child. By this time, the fairies had vanished, and one queen took it upon herself to give the gifts in their place.
Under a silver moon, she dressed her newborn in a white gown and carried her deep into the forest, along a mossy path where shadows clung to the trees. The wind stirred the pines, whispering as if warning her. On and on she walked until she reached a quiet glen. There, on a bed of pine needles, she laid the baby and lit a single candle, its flame trembling in the night.
With her head bowed, she spoke her wishes, each word a careful spell:
“My daughter, I wish for you a small voice, that no one may hear enough to wound you with their judgment.
I wish for you never to be remarkable, that envy and jealousy may never darken your door.
And I wish for you only modest dreams, that the sharp sting of failure may never reach your heart.”
She bent low and kissed her daughter’s forehead. The child slept, unknowing, as the candle flame flickered and died. The queen lingered, sensing the weight of her own fears flowing into the night, and knew she had cloaked her daughter in the only protection she had ever known: a shield against a world that might hurt her.
Shooting Star
I saw a greeting card at the grocery store last week. The front bore an illustration of a star shooting across the sky. Underneath was a quotation by Sojourner Truth:
“I'm not going to die. I'm going home like a shooting star.”
As I walked the aisles in the grocery store, picking out fresh produce and groceries, my mind kept thinking about those words. They stayed with me as I drove home, as I dropped the bags of groceries on my kitchen counter, and rushed outside so I could look up into the sky.
Over the next few hours, I sat outside my house, watching the sky darken and the first stars appear.
How would it feel to say something like that, so certain in my faith, I am not afraid?
I saw a greeting card at the grocery store last week. The front bore an illustration of a star shooting across the sky. Underneath was a quotation by Sojourner Truth:
“I'm not going to die. I'm going home like a shooting star.”
As I walked the aisles in the grocery store, picking out fresh produce and groceries, my mind kept thinking about those words. They stayed with me as I drove home, as I dropped the bags of groceries on my kitchen counter, and rushed outside so I could look up into the sky.
Over the next few hours, I sat outside my house, watching the sky darken and the first stars appear.
How would it feel to say something like that, so certain in my faith, I am not afraid?