One-winged Angel

I once heard someone say “fallen angel” when I was a teen. I thought it was sweet – an angel fallen from the sky. I innocently thought it would be cute to be called that.

My mom heard and immediately jumped down my throat. She was always on the lookout to attack, and I naively gave her perceived ammunition often.

I thought about that as I hung my smallest angel ornament on the Christmas tree this season.

She’s so tiny, I always worry she’ll be lost. She was purchased when I was only a year old. She’s been through a lot at this point, and is missing a wing.

But despite it all, she’s still here.

The Love Of Strangers

I realized something this morning.

The best Christmas my family ever had when I was growing up was the one time my parents actually accepted help. To them, the reason we kids enjoyed it so much was because we were given more than we deserved. We were spoiled, and happy about it.

That wasn’t it. In fact, it really wasn’t that much at all.

It was the thoughtfulness they, possibly even strangers, put into the gifts.

It was the feeling of actually being seen.

Care from strangers > “care” from parents.