Instead, he opened the door and stepped out cautiously, sliding his feet and feeling ahead with his arms. He stubbornly insisted on doing this alone, and I watched with motherly angst as he walked slowly down the road, stepping in the puddles and slipping on the ice. He stumbled and fell. I watched him mumble, stand up and continue with rocky determination.

Silently, I watched from the deck, tense with anticipation of what I would witness next. Then I heard laughter, who was nobody else but my little daughter Lianna. Two happy voices giggling in the spring melt. The sound of two wanderers exploring their latest dig site in the pasture. Lianna was ahead, steering him around the old softened-up cow pies. I heard her crazy laughter as he stopped in one. I saw Lianna’s arm go up.

Carefully, he took her arm and allowed her to guide him through the pasture, stopping frequently to examine the relics found in the melting snow. Then she took his hand and ran with him in a spring frenzy. At the barbed-wire fence she placed her hand gently on his head and pushed down. I could hear her talking. From there, I watched them both come to the tree fort, where she guided him up the steps and in safely.

I cried and went inside the house. Lianna needed no asking. She knew, at six, that rewards come from within, with the simple pleasure of creating joy for others. Preston and Lianna had their bedrooms in the basement. — Beliefnet.com