Free Hannah's Gift by Maria Housden

eyes, Katie had never seemed distracted by something else when she was with Hannah. She always seemed to genuinely care how Hannah was doing, and was never too busy to be silly.
    The two of them used to play their favorite game every time Katie came into Hannah’s hospital room.
    “Is there anything I can get for you, little Miss Hannah?” Katie would begin, trying to look as serious as she could. Hannah would grin and fold her hands in her lap.
    “Yes, there is,” she would say, barely able to finish the sentence before she burst out laughing. “Nurse Katie, could I please have a tomatie?”
    Katie would lean toward Hannah and, in a solemn, serious voice, say, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but the Katies have eaten all the tomaties, although we still have plenty of bananas for little Miss Hannahs.”
    Now, Hannah was setting the tea party table herself. Walking slowly and carefully, she carried an eclectic assortment of china plates and cups, one at a time, from the kitchen to the coffee table in the living room. She ordered the cups and plates into a lopsided circle and set a white plastic daisy and vase from her Barbie tea set in the center. Three leftover birthday napkins, a Winnie-the-Pooh and two Little Mermaids, were joined by one that said “Happy New Year,” lined up end to end “so we can see the pictures on them,” Hannah explained.
    She had decided we should pour the tea from the “grown-ups’” pot. The one from her Barbie set was already stuffed with an impressive collection of Band-Aids. Because we used so many of them, we had become aficionados. Buying anything but the “regular” ones, we now had boxes of them in every size, pattern, and color.
    As I watched Hannah arrange and rearrange the items on the table, I held myself back from making any suggestions. It wasn’t easy. There was a part of me, I realized, thatwas overly critical of everything, that wanted to teach people, especially my children, about the “right” way to do things.
    Hannah was smiling and humming, every once in a while stepping back to survey her work. She was in no hurry, and seemed completely unconcerned about the way a tea party is “supposed” to look. I watched her quietly, savoring the joy she was experiencing and the care she was giving to everything that she was doing. I longed to bring the same attention to the busy-ness in my every day, to do something simply for the joy of doing it, without worrying whether people noticed or liked it.
    Joy, I realized then, is not concerned about being messy, mismatched, or unloved. If I was serious about living life more fully, I was going to have to let go of my need for everything, including myself and others, to be perfect.

Joy in a Jeep
    I HAD TAKEN DOWN THE CURTAINS AND OPENED ALL THE windows, letting the warm spring breeze chase winter’s mustiness out of the house. Claude was outside, raking and seeding the yard. Will and Hannah were helping me wipe woodwork and furniture with slippery lemon oil. We made our way through the downstairs and had just started on Will’s room when I heard a vehicle pull into our driveway, its horn honking loudly. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was. The kids didn’t, either.
    “Pastor LJ,” they screamed, running to the window.
    I heard Laurajane’s laugh and got to the window just in time to see her blowing kisses from the front seat of her topless, bright red jeep.
    “Hey, that looks cool,” Will said, leaning dangerously out the window.
    “It
is
cool.” Laurajane laughed. She lifted her Phillies cap off her head. “Hey, what are you guys doing? Can you go for a ride?”
    “We’re cleaning,” Hannah said, holding her dust rag up for Laurajane to see.
    “Cleaning???” Laurajane shrieked, as Will and Hannah laughed. “You tell your mom there is absolutely, positively no cleaning allowed on a beautiful day like this. You two get down here right away and tell your mom she’d better come, too!”
    Will and Hannah