Random, Simple Blessings
He prayed again last night, the five-year-old,
at dinner, prayed for his brother and sister,
for his parents, his friends, the family dog
and then began his random thanking
for his toys, air to breath, marbles,
apples but not peas, his bike,
the soft blanket his grandmother gave him,
the sun, kindergarten, playing tic-tac-toe
in the cul-de-sac near his house,
his new dinosaur shirt, ice cream
and homemade cookies (chocolate chip),
Coco from a movie he had just watched,
a telephone call from his grandparents
who live far away, his new socks with yellow toes,
Curious George, homemade raspberries jam, and rolls.
He did say amen and climbed into bed.
At first I was irritated that he prayed
for such random things.
I dimmed the lights and stood
in the doorway, watched him close his eyes
and fall asleep, content with his day.
I remembered his prayer and being thankful
for so many everyday things.
When I contemplated each one,
carefully, from the eyes of a five-year-old,
a hole opened in my heart,
tears streamed down my cheek,
my mind was enlightened.
They were not just random things.
They were simple things, yes,
even simple blessings of the mundane,
yet individual things that created happiness
in my five-year-old, about who he was
and what lay around the house
and within his sphere of influence,
minute as they might have seemed to me.
They were his everyday things,
his everyday blessings, his alone—
and maybe mine as well.
At that very moment, I thought of my simple things,
my simple blessings, and they grew
suddenly large and important in my eyes
and in my heart, causing both see
and feel wonderment and happiness
for the simple, enriching blessings that fill my life
with happiness every single day—
all because of a five-year-old boy’s
seemingly random prayer turned revelatory.
He prayed again last night, the five-year-old,
at dinner, prayed for his brother and sister,
for his parents, his friends, the family dog
and then began his random thanking
for his toys, air to breath, marbles,
apples but not peas, his bike,
the soft blanket his grandmother gave him,
the sun, kindergarten, playing tic-tac-toe
in the cul-de-sac near his house,
his new dinosaur shirt, ice cream
and homemade cookies (chocolate chip),
Coco from a movie he had just watched,
a telephone call from his grandparents
who live far away, his new socks with yellow toes,
Curious George, homemade raspberries jam, and rolls.
He did say amen and climbed into bed.
At first I was irritated that he prayed
for such random things.
I dimmed the lights and stood
in the doorway, watched him close his eyes
and fall asleep, content with his day.
I remembered his prayer and being thankful
for so many everyday things.
When I contemplated each one,
carefully, from the eyes of a five-year-old,
a hole opened in my heart,
tears streamed down my cheek,
my mind was enlightened.
They were not just random things.
They were simple things, yes,
even simple blessings of the mundane,
yet individual things that created happiness
in my five-year-old, about who he was
and what lay around the house
and within his sphere of influence,
minute as they might have seemed to me.
They were his everyday things,
his everyday blessings, his alone—
and maybe mine as well.
At that very moment, I thought of my simple things,
my simple blessings, and they grew
suddenly large and important in my eyes
and in my heart, causing both see
and feel wonderment and happiness
for the simple, enriching blessings that fill my life
with happiness every single day—
all because of a five-year-old boy’s
seemingly random prayer turned revelatory.
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