who's your hero?

I recently came across this poem, which I had read before. I was moved again as I thought about how rapidly my own children are growing, and how they bear-for good and for ill- the influences of my husband and I and so many others in their lives. My daughter recently had to fill out a form for a newspaper article. One of the questions was, "Who is your hero?" Her answer: my gramma. I was teary-eyed. My mother didn't spend many hours with Abby this summer...you remember that Abby was working at a Christian camp. But Abby (and all of the rest of us) learned one of the most importnant lessons she'll ever learn observing her grandmother, 2 months after being diagnosed with an aggresive cancer-watching all her earthly belongings go up in smoke. As my mom sat that there that night, a bit-teary but not hysterical, she pointed into the sky and said, "Would you look at that moon tonight? Isn't that beautiful?" Yes, Gramma is our hero.

I took a piece of plastic clay

And idly fashioned it one day;

And as my fingers pressed it still

It moved and yielded at my will.

I came again when days were past,

The form I gave it still it bore,

And as my fingers pressed it still,

I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,

And gently formed it day by day,

And molded with my power and art,

A young child's soft and yielding heart.

I came again when days were gone;

It was a man I looked upon,

He still that early impress bore,

And I could change it never more.