She explained that we each carry a gift or perhaps many gifts buried deep inside of us that will help us to do God's work upon the earth.
As a little girl I can remember looking at my feet and thinking, wow, these are God's feet. I wanted to know what it was that my feet and my hands should do. I wanted to know what treasure He placed inside of me that I could not see. I longed to be of service. I longed to feel God's gift pulse through my body. I wanted to use my gifts in a way that would make Him proud.
My mother was a wise woman to root such curiosity into her children's mind and heart.
I am an adult now and I've come to understand that the treasure was a metaphor and not an actual little chest with gemstones and a rusted lock that protected my special gift. But, I still believe my hands are His hands, my feet, His feet.
I have answered the worlds calling many times: raising my children, caring for children without parents, tending to the brokenhearted, the abused, the elderly, the dying. I find it interesting that I rarely had to search for the treasure my mother spoke about, because it seemed to always find me.