A Gift
I had dinner with my mom a a few months ago, and we were discussing her having grown up during the depression.
Mom grew up on a small farm outside of the town of Arroyo Grande, on the rural central California coast. She told me the story of a neighbor girl about her age named Clare, when mom was about 9 or so. This girl was a recent transplant from dust-bowl Oklahoma. She and her family lived in a tumble-down shack that was down the road a ways from mom’s nicer (but still modest) childhood home.
Mom invited Clare to her birthday party, and for her present Clare gave mom a scarf, one with a pretty flower pattern on it.
Mom went to her mother and said, somewhat scandalized, “Mommy, I saw Clare wearing that scarf!”
Grandma said to Mom, “Well, that was all she had, Anne. That was all she had to give. I want you to go out and thank her especially for it.”
Mom’s voice broke a little when she told that story, and I was moved as well. To me, there is no greater example of childlike simplicity and generosity than Clare’s gift.
If only we could all be like Clare, the world would be a place of aching beauty and simple love. I hope we can commit ourselves to building such a world.
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This reminds me of a Buddhist story. Siddhartha (the Buddha) was going around, and as was common, begging for food. A young boy saw him and gave what he had: dirt. The Buddha smiled. His disciples asked why, since it appeared disrespectful. He responded that the boy gave as he could, from his heart (according to the story, this boy would be reborn in another life as Ashoka the Great because of this deed).