The Gift

Every Sunday, Naomi would enter the small place of prayer at the end of the street.

She never asked for anything.

She would simply sit quietly for a few minutes, and before leaving, she always left something behind.

Sometimes flowers.

Sometimes coins.

Once, she even left the expensive watch her father had given her.

"I want to give something to God," she explained to the old man who looked after the place.

One day, he asked her:

"And what did you bring Him today?"

Naomi showed him a small basket of apples she had bought at the market.

The old man picked up one of them.

"Beautiful. And who gave you this apple?"

Naomi smiled. "The farmer, I suppose."

"And who gave the farmer the tree?"

Naomi could already see where the conversation was going.

"And who gave you the hand that carried it here?" he continued.

Naomi fell silent.

The old man placed the apple back in the basket.

"You've spent years trying to give God things that already belong to Him."

"Then what can I give Him?"

The old man smiled.

"There is one thing He will never take from you."

"What?"

"Your choice to love."

Naomi looked down at the basket in her hands.

On her way home, she passed a man sitting on the sidewalk asking for food.

For a moment, she looked at the apples.

Then she sat down beside him.

She took out two.

One she gave to him.

One she kept for herself.

And they ate together in silence.

The following Sunday, for the first time in years, Naomi arrived empty-handed.

But she had never brought a greater gift.