The Sunflower ~ Laura Ingalls Wilder

 

Out in the meadow, I picked a wild sunflower and as I looked into its golden heart such a wave of homesickness came over me that I almost wept. I wanted mother, her gentle voice and quiet firmness; I longed to hear father's jolly songs and to see his twinkling blue eyes; I was lonesome for the sister with whom I used to play in the meadow picking daises and wildflowers. Across the years, the old home and its love called to me and memories of sweet words of counsel came flooding back. I realized that all my life the teachings of those early days have influenced me and the example set by my father and mother has been something I tried to follow, with failures here and there, with rebellion at times, but always coming back to it as the compass needle to the star. So much depends upon the homemakers. I sometimes wonder if they are so busy now, with other things, that they are forgetting the importance of their special work. Because of their importance, we must not neglect our homes in the rapid changes of the present day. For when tests of character come in later years, strength to the good will not come from modern improvements or amusements few may have enjoyed, but from the quiet moment and the "still small voices" of the old home. Nothing ever can take the place of this early home influence and, as it does not depend upon externals, it may be the possession of the poor as well as the rich, a heritage from all fathers and mothers to their children. The real things in life that are the common possessions of us all are the greatest value; worth far more than motorcars or radio or outfits; more than lands or money; and our whole store of these wonderful riches may be revealed to us by such a common, beautiful thing as wild sunflower.