What is it that you would find if you were to look through a little girl’s purse? Odds and ends, knick knacks that no one wanted, bits that were set to the side, unneeded and unnoticed until she came upon them. Many would call it rubbish; a veritable crow’s nest of the things that no one else wants.
But what is it all to her? Every piece in that purse is a treasure. If you bother to sit and listen, you can hear why each things she has picked up is special to her. Yes, maybe the story will change each time, but she will take great joy in telling you all about it.
When we grow up, our purses are full of the things we “need”. This of course changes with each person’s opinion of what they need. One woman may have a purse full of make-up, a mirror, a pack of mints, the things she needs for keeping up her appearances. Another may have a book, a notebook, and a pen. Something to keep her busy if she grows bored. Who knows what one will have. But a little girl’s purse has no “theme” to it. It is a jumble of all of the things she holds dear. An echo of a heart and a mind that have not found their place in the world yet. An individual not worried about what others will think of her.
Would that we all could keep such openness in our lives. Not necessarily to the point where we collect things like magpies. But to the point where we have in our lives the things which we fancy, rather than the things we are supposed to fancy.
But what is it all to her? Every piece in that purse is a treasure. If you bother to sit and listen, you can hear why each things she has picked up is special to her. Yes, maybe the story will change each time, but she will take great joy in telling you all about it.
When we grow up, our purses are full of the things we “need”. This of course changes with each person’s opinion of what they need. One woman may have a purse full of make-up, a mirror, a pack of mints, the things she needs for keeping up her appearances. Another may have a book, a notebook, and a pen. Something to keep her busy if she grows bored. Who knows what one will have. But a little girl’s purse has no “theme” to it. It is a jumble of all of the things she holds dear. An echo of a heart and a mind that have not found their place in the world yet. An individual not worried about what others will think of her.
Would that we all could keep such openness in our lives. Not necessarily to the point where we collect things like magpies. But to the point where we have in our lives the things which we fancy, rather than the things we are supposed to fancy.
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