Mulch Blessings

At the playground today, an older boy patiently received the mulch my toddler son scooped into the bigger boy's palm with the pleasure and intentionality of a sacred ritual. What struck me was that the older boy, perhaps ten, seemed to recognize, and not merely tolerate, the joyful offering of a treasure, as though my son had bestowed on him a robin's egg or gold dust, or the skeleton of a tiny dinasaur, millions of years old. And I wondered what made this boy kind and present to the enthusiastic nature love of my son. How did this kid come to have such wise and sweet eyes, with an open heart?

My first thought, sadly, was that this boy must know some sadness. Perhaps he was bullied or made fun of at school. He didn't seem particularly ridiculous in any obvious way, nor was he wearing a sign that said, "pick-on-me" as some children unfortunately seem to have stuck on their blessed little foreheads. But the boy was alone, so I wondered.

But above all, I thanked God for him. And I thanked him. He seemed surprised and sweet. "Oh, you're welcome."