A quick personal story
When I was about 11 years old, my grandmother gave me a pair of houseshoes to keep my feet warm as I walked around the house. They were lined with fleece to maintain body heat.
I never asked for them and never wanted them.
My feet felt hot and sweaty in those houseshoes. I hated being sweaty then and I hate it now. There were cold days in the winters in my hometown of Little Rock, Arkansas growing up, but really, I liked the feel of the cool hardwood floor against the soles of my bare feet.
I tried to throw the houseshoes away one day, but my mom caught me and wouldn’t let me.
I think I wore them twice all winter. When spring brought warm days, I was happy not to have to hear about the houseshoes anymore.
By the time it got cold again, I had outgrown the houseshoes. I finally got to throw them away without objection. My grandmother didn’t order me another pair.
I never appreciated them.
I didn’t understand that she bought them for me because she cared about me, loved me, and wanted me to be well.
My grandmother passed away 21 years ago this month. Wherever she is now, I wonder if she knows I still think about her every day.