I walk into work with head hung low, as sorrow and regret fill eyes and leak down cheeks.  It has been one of those mornings, the kind that leaves you wishing for a "do-over", the kind that leaves you questioning, the kind that no one prepares your mom heart for.  It's one of the hard days, and it feels long even though it's just begun.  I shove hands hard and deep into pockets, partly in defense against the cold and partly in defense against the raw exposure of heart ripped wide because that's the raw you don't want seen.  And that's when I feel them, two cold metal "coins"; a boy's treasure. 

One day, not too long ago, he placed this treasure he holds dear, in my hands for safe keeping.  He trusts these hands, even with his treasure.  For weeks, maybe months, the treasure remained in my care.  He may have forgotten, but I'll return them safe.  And when I do, I'll remind him that I've held them all this time, held his treasure. And I'll remind him just how much of a treasure he is to me, because  sometimes I speak harshly, and I don't want him to forget.  So all day long, I clasp coins in palm and I remember.  I remember that even when I think he should behave as if he's grown, he isn't, he is just a little boy.  He is just a little boy, His treasure, that He has placed in my hands for safe keeping.