When my child was young she brought me flowers from the field:
Queen Anneâ€™s lace, buttercups, and dandelion blooms.
Broken crudely from their earth-bound roots
these gems of Your creation would then be
lightly laid aside for a time of play â€“
stuffed into pockets to free little hands for climbing,
stepped on, sat on, or simply clutched too tightly and too long.
She was unmindful that the stems had all been broken
and half the petals lost.
But when the time for play was done,
this worn-out fistful of flowers was offered with love â€“
and was cherished.
Father, I bring You my prayer,
as awkward and fragmented as a little girlâ€™s flowers â€“
confident that You will cherish my bedraggled bouquet
as much as I cherished hers.
— Carol Barlow, OCDS