Once Upon a Child's Heart

One day, I walked into an antique store in Hailey, Idaho. The only thing I really remember from that visit is a painting. It was tucked high up in a peaked rafter—easy to miss—but it caught my eye. It was of a small child crying. I fell in love with it. I’m sure my newly awakened mother’s heart had something to do with it—Thing 1 was only 18 months old at the time. But we were broke, so I left the store without it. Six months later, I unwrapped that very same painting for my birthday. It was no small feat for my sweet and thoughtful husband to get it, especially since we were living in the Willamette Valley—nearly 13 hours away. When I opened it, I cried. That painting has hung in various places in our home for the past eight years. At first, I put it in our dining room, not realizing what a conversation piece it would become. Almost everyone who sat at our table asked the same question: “What do you think she’s crying about?” (As it turns out, it was a little girl—but from th...