Towards the end of last spring, in the final days of the school year, Zane brought home a styrofoam cup filled with dirt.  Two tiny green seedlings were pushing their way from the center, barely visible above the dirt.

“What’s this?” I asked calling to mind a similar offering from Zoë at the end of her first grade year.  That little plant died a horrible death having experienced the extremes of sustenance and thirst.  Heat and bitter cold.  It was difficult to watch.

“It’s a sunflower!  We planted them from seeds in class and now it’s going to grow.  I’m gonna help it!”

I feared the worse, my optimism jaded by past experience, though I tried to remain positive.  “That’s great, buddy.  We’ll have to make sure to take care of it.”

Take care of it he did.  When the plant grew too large for the little cup he transplanted it into a larger planter at the foot of the driveway.  Diligently he watered the plants throughout the summer.  And incredibly, amazingly, the plant grew, continuing it’s ascent upward above the smaller plants already mature in the pot.  It thrived under the careful attention given from a little boy that knows of no other way than to whole-heartedly care.

Just this past week, it bloomed.

I have to say that there are few things more rewarding than to experience the joy of a child, proud from having accomplished.  And I can’t help but think every time I see these little sunflowers at the end of my driveway that I am peering into the heart of a kid that’s filled with good.