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Touched

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Touched
Author Unknown

When a tornado touched down in a small town nearby, many families were left devastated. All the local newspapers carried many human-interest stories featuring some of the families who suffered the hardest. One Sunday, a particular picture especially touched me. A young woman stood in front of a totally demolished mobile home, an anguished expression twisting her features. A young boy, seven or eight years old, stood at her side, eyes downcast. Clutching at her skirt was a tiny girl who stared into the camera, eyes wide with confusion and fear. The article that accompanied the picture gave the clothing sizes of each family member.

With growing interest, I noticed that their sizes closely matched ours. This would be a good opportunity to teach my children to help those less fortunate than themselves. I taped the picture of the young family to our refrigerator, explaining their plight to my seven-year-old twins, Brad and Brett, and to three- year-old Meghan. “We have so much, and these poor people now have nothing,” I said. “We’ll share what we have with them.” I brought three large boxes down from the attic and placed them on the living room floor. Meghan watched solemnly, as the boys and I filled one of the boxes with canned goods and other nonperishable foods, soap and other assorted toiletries. While I sorted through our clothes, I encouraged the boys to go through their toys and donate some of their less favorite things. Meghan watched quietly as the boys piled up discarded toys and games.

“I’ll help you find something for the little girl when I’m done with this,” I said. The boys placed the toys they had chosen to donate into one of the boxes while I filled the third box with clothes. Meghan walked up with Lucy, her worn, faded, frazzled, much-loved rag doll hugged tightly to her chest. She paused in front of the box that held the toys, pressed her round little face into Lucy’s flat, painted-on-face, gave her a final kiss, then laid her gently on top of the other toys. “Oh, Honey,” I said. “You don’t have to give Lucy. You love her so much.” Meghan nodded solemnly, eyes glistening with held-back tears. “Lucy makes me happy, Mommy. Maybe she’ll make that other little girl happy, too.”

The boys had watched, open-mouthed, as their baby sister placed her favorite doll in the box. Without a word, Brad rose and went to his room. He came back carrying one of his favorite action figures. He hesitated briefly, clutching the toy, then looked over at Meghan and placed it in the box next to Lucy. A slow smile spread across Brett’s face, then he jumped up, eyes twinkling as he ran to retrieve some of his prized Matchbox cars. Amazed, I realized that the boys had also recognized what little Meghan’s gesture meant. Swallowing back tears, I pulled all three of them into my arms. Taking the cue from my little one, I removed my old tan jacket with the frayed cuffs from the box of clothes. I replaced it with the new hunter green jacket that I had found on sale last week. I hoped the young woman in the picture would love it as much as I did. It’s easy to give that which we don’t want anymore, but harder to let go of things we cherish; isn’t it? However, the true spirit of giving is to give with your heart.

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