You’re such a little thing. Three? Four?
Couldn’t be more. And you notice the flowers.
Itty-bitty, no bigger than a thumbnail,
Growing hidden in the grass.
In a flash, you have a plan.
Mother’s Day is coming,
And Mom loves flowers.
She’d like some for her vase—
She’s always talking about it.
You know something about plants—
You’ve learn so much lately.
Plants grow when they get water,
Of that, you are certain.
So you go to the kitchen sink,
Stand on the step stool,
Fill a glass and carry it outside.
You select a specific patch
And you water it—
Over and over,
Glass after glass.
When Mom asks,
You say it’s a surprise.
You know this is going to work.
When Mother’s Day comes,
Those flowers will be big.
They’ll fill the vase with beautiful blooms.
But the flowers don’t grow.
…
I’m here to tell you
Your plan wasn’t a failure.
You learned something that day:
Just because you want a thing to happen,
Because you think it should happen,
Doesn’t mean it can or will or should.
You may look back over the years
And laugh at that tiny dreamer,
But please don’t stop;
Believe the impossible.
Your hope is beautiful, little girl.
Things won’t always bloom,
You learned that early,
But hope has a way
Of making miracles happen—
Not always,
But sometimes.
And as as you grow, you’ll realize
That now and then
Is plenty often
For a miracle.

Angela M. Adams