A white-haired man sat on a bench next to a little boy. The old man shifted as he shucked another ear of corn. He held out the yellow ear, dotted with silken filaments like wispy threads of gold, and said, “This, Grandson, is love.”

The little boy took the big, golden ear in both small hands, grinning at the joke, “It’s not love, Papaw, it’s corn,” and he laughed the unpretentious, delightful laugh only children can make.

 “It’s that, for sure,” said the old man, nodding. “But it’s also LOVE, youngin’.” He turned to face the fair-haired boy. “Your grandmaw and I took good care of the land – tilled, hoed, watered, and fed it. We put our love into it. Then we got us some corn seed, put a hole in the ground for each one and dropped em in, one-by-one. We buried them tiny seeds so the land would lay heavy on em. They needed all that dirt on top to make em strong, see?”

His grandson nodded, turning the ear of corn in his small hands. “How’s it make em strong, Papaw? Doesn’t it hurt those little seeds to have all that dirt pressing down?”

The old man’s weathered face broke out into a brilliant smile. “No, it don’t hurt; it helps. That’s love, Grandson — love makes us stronger. All living things wanna be strong. I do, don’t you?” The little boy grinned and nodded. His grandfather laughed, “And look at you! You’ve gotten stronger since this mornin’!” But we don’t get stronger unless we’re given somethin’ that leans on us a little heavy. That pressure and pushin’ helps us find the strength we didn’t know we had.

 “Take these corn plants. That brand new, tiny plant had to push up with all its might through that heavy dirt. It sprouted in the dark under all that weight and then pushed and pushed so it could see the sun. Thank heavens for the soil lovin’ on that corn! If that seed was just left on top of the dirt, it would’a died.”

Grandfather looked out over the field, full of tall, sturdy plants. “Each seed grew into what it was supposed to be — a sturdy plant with lots of ears to feed lots of people. That was hard work, Grandson. Very hard. But each seed kept tryin’ – not givin’ up – and gave it everything it had.” Then he grinned and winked. “And never once did that corn complain.”

The boy giggled. “I don’t care if it complains — that’d be fun to hear it talk!” The old man chuckled as he continued stripping the leaves down from the brown tassels. The boy watched quietly. Then his brow furrowed. “Papaw?”

 “Yes, Grandson,” the old man said.

 “Love is nice and feels good, like you and Mama and Daddy. But when Billy Whitman makes fun of me at school, it doesn’t feel nice; it feels mean. So, if the hard things are love, how come they don’t feel good?”

His grandfather brushed his hands off on his overalls and smiled down at the boy. “You know, we all growed up thinkin’ this ole life is supposed to be jes one way —comfy, exactly how we want it to be. When somethin’ don’t go our way, we say it’s terrible, wrong, or bad luck. We don’t never stop to see the gifts the hard things bring. Love isn’t only things what feel good.

 “You see, Grandson, inside every hard or sad thing we go through, there’s a little gift. Maybe it’s a lesson. Or maybe you get smarter or wiser or kinder. Maybe you learn to love folks better. We think things what don’t go our way are always bad. But every time the hard things come,” and he looked the boy straight in the eye, “every—single—time, we have a chance to get growed up a little more, be more respectful, or patient or forgivin’ because of it. If we see the hard things as gifts, we can be thankful every day — for the whole day, whether it feels good or not. Thankfulness isn’t saved up just for the easy times.”

The little boy let out a big sigh. “I wanna be thankful when Mama makes me clean my room, but I’m not.” He shook his head. “No, sirree. I wanna be thankful for a tummyache or Daddy yelling, but I don’t know how,” he said plaintively.

 “I know, Grandson,” he said. “But it’s much easier to feel thankful if you ask yourself what you might’a learned coz when you figure that out, you’ve received a present. What did you learn from that ole’ bellyache?”

The little boy thought a moment, then said, “I know it was cause I ate too much. One time I ate all the candy Mamaw gave me — all at one time!” He made a face. “I don’t do that anymore.”

 “See? You learned somethin’. How ‘bout when Billy makes fun of you, what can you learn there?”

The little boy thought a minute. “Maybe he’s having a bad day. Somebody at school said his daddy died. I figure that might make me feel mean too.”

“And Grandson, that’s exactly what we’re talkin’ about. Our troubles come to teach us and shape us — they soften us while makin’ us strong. They remind us of all the blessings and goodness we’ve been given. Remember: no trouble comes without a present included; some are just a little harder to see.” The old man reached out and joined hands with the little boy.

 “Be grateful for the hard things, Grandson. They’re our greatest gift.”

At the cornfield’s edge wisdom was shared. And the truth and love between them fed the heart of the world.

The End