The other day, my youngest rescued a discarded weed from the ground. She walked into the ballet studio holding it.
Seconds later a little boy about four years old said, “Mommy, what is that? What does she have?”
With little patience and a dose of disgust she replied (in full earshot of my daughter), “It’s just a weed.”
We looked at each other, my daughter and I–a knowing look passing between us. I could hear us both thinking along the lines of, “She doesn’t know. She can’t see how beautiful this pretty weed is. How sad.”
And it was beautiful. It had been chosen for the way it stood out among the living, the way its faded glory contrasted the vibrant colors all around it, and for its unique shape, crisp from the sun.
Children often look at life without predefined boundaries. They see beauty and possibility in things others discard; things that go unnoticed by most.
I’m trying to see my world through their eyes more often. Children everywhere fascinate me.
I love their faces.
I love their conversations.
I love their ideas.
I love their haphazard treasures, their rambling thoughts, and their discarded “weeds”.