She’s been given life, and the only favor I wanted was her Twinkie. Luscious, puffy golden sunshine cake surrounding creamy white goodness.
But no, do you think she could share her delectables? My daughter transformed into a hyena, snapping her jaws at me, protecting the treats she received from a recent church party.
Does she not realize I’ve given her the best gift of all—her very own life? Does she consider how I’ve bathed her, fed her empty belly, read her Green Eggs and Ham so many times that now I’m even willing to eat the month-old greenish ham in the fridge?
Yeah, right. No parade. No banners shouting out my motherly goodness. I was only asking for a Twinkie, the one that lay like a shining, yellow star atop a heap of Milky Ways, suckers, and licorice. Just a small treat, an expression of her gratitude for all she had.
Sometimes, it’s not the main things—like our jobs or our homes or life, itself—but the little things that make us feel valued, appreciated, and significant.
Do you demonstrate your appreciation toward others?
Do you express how much you value your family, colleagues, and friends? Do they know their significance?
Sure, your employees are grateful for their jobs. But could they be longing for something more from you—a written thank you note, an afternoon off, a cheering word, accolades for a job well done?
What about your spouse? You pay the bills, you’ve remained faithful, you come home for supper every night—yes, all big things. But what about the little tokens of appreciation—the kiss hello, the massage of aching shoulders, the taking over of chores?
Often, it’s the little things that count.
It wasn’t so much the Twinkie that I wanted. What I really wanted was the sacrifice from my daughter, demonstrating how blessed she felt, so much so that she was willing to part with the crowning jewel of her candy pile.
But she didn’t. Being eight years old, she has much to learn. We all do, I suppose. So what did I do? I did what any good mother would do. I stole it when she went to bed. Inhaled it right up. Like I said, she has much to learn, and it’s my privilege—no, my job—to help her along the way.