Have you ever received a child’s gift? I remember the glimmer in his eye and the excitement in her smile. The creation-likely made from paper, glue, and love–didn’t carry much market value. By the world’s standards, it wasn’t perfect. Yet it radiated meaning because fo the heart behind it.
When I was young, I tried to sew a nightgown for my mom’s birthday. I used one of her old nightgowns as a pattern and cut two pieces, which I then hand-stitched together. I didn’t know that cotton doesn’t stretch or that my big, unevent stitches couldn’t withstand wear. But I beamed with pride as she opened my handmade gift. It wasn’t useful, but it was overflowing with love.
Recently, I shared a hurtful experience with a young adult. Without hesitation, she acknowledged the person’s good intention–even while recognizing the impact was misguided. I agreed, but was struck by how naturally she led with grace. It wasn’t an effort; it was her instinct to believe the best and affirm the heart behind the act.
The moment stayed with me.
What if I began receiving the circumstances around me like a child’s gift? Maybe they don’t arrive perfectly wrapped. Maybe they lack polish or don’t meet my expectations. But could there still be love or care in the offering? Could a difficult conversation, a co-worker’s decision, or a friend’s gesture–though imperfect–still carry goodness at its core?
I’m not suggesting we excuse harm or ignore reality. But what might shift in me if I started looking beyond flaws and failures to see the love behind the effort? Like a mother treasuring a too-small, poorly stitched nightgown–not for its usefulness, but for the love woven through it. I want to learn to treasure people’s imperfect gifts to me.
Sometimes the gift is in the intention. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.