I was watching Annie play in the driveway the other afternoon. She kept picking up this one rock and carrying it around as though she had found one of the most valuable treasures on earth.

A rock. Plain. Nothing special. One of millions.

This one was special to her. She called it a dog and gave it a name. She carried it on her bike, let it sit beside her on the swing and wanted to bring it inside to take it to bed with her.

She saw more.

A man sits hovered over a plain piece of stone. He examines, turns and begins to slowly chip and chisel a form.

A stone. Plain. Nothing special. One of millions.

This one is special to him. He sees the figure of a beautiful face. He caresses the stone with his hand and uses his tools to coax her from the stone.

He sees more.

A child is born.

Plain. Nothing special. One of millions.

This one is special. This one is going to grow and begin a movement. This one is going to grow and find a cure. This one is going to give all to one who has nothing. This one will create something that is revolutionary.

Someone sees more.

How often do we see one who is plain? Nothing special? One of millions?

What if we were that one who saw more? Who took the time to caress the beauty from the plain? Who took the time to treasure the time spent?

What would that one become? What could they achieve?

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