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Whistler's Mother, by James McNeill Whistler
Robert L. Martin

The Ultimate Gift

The Ultimate Gift

One bright day as the springtime had once again breathed life into the listless body of winter, I sat upon the park bench and meditated upon the beauty of the seasons.  An old woman with the look of despair sat down beside me.  
Each tear from her lonely eyes represented each deaf ear that muted her spirited words, as she was desperate to get someone to listen to her.  Her boisterous speech was quieted down like the aftermath of the tempest that roared through the hills.  Her words still had a subdued relevance as she conveyed her broken thoughts to me.
I listened to her even though it was difficult; but what better gift is there than to acknowledge her humbled speech?  The days had worn upon her spirit as she searched for anyone who showed any kindness toward her.  
Everyone prides himself with his thoughts.  Each one is added to increase his significance.  The spirit reaches out to find someone to recognize each thought.  Like the flower that seeks the sun, the spirit looks to be nurtured.  By listening, what better way is there to nurture it?
As she spoke to me, her eyes regained the luster that they used to have.  Every word was filled with enthusiasm as if her spirit had wandered back in time to her days of young love.  
My gift to her touched her heart like the soothing fingers of heaven.  If I would have given her money to bring joy to her, it would have been an act of superiority over her, which would have lowered her self-esteem; hence, increase her inferiority.
Blessed be the giver who gives mindful of what the spirit needs.

From my book entitled, "In Reverence to Life."

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