Lily loved bedtime. Not just because it meant snuggling under her softest blanket, but because it meant stories. Every night, her grandmother would tell her tales of faraway lands and amazing creatures.
Tonight, though, Lily wanted something different. She wanted to create her own story, a story about a brave little flower that blossomed even in the darkest night.
So, she whispered to her teddy bear, Barnaby, "Barnaby, tonight, I want to be the flower. Let's imagine a beautiful, hidden garden, just for us." Barnaby, a wise old teddy bear, nodded in agreement, his button eyes twinkling.
Lily imagined a garden filled with shimmering, moonlit petals. She imagined colorful butterflies flitting about, their wings catching the moonlight like tiny mirrors. She imagined a little ladybug, as red as a ruby, carefully carrying a tiny dewdrop to a sleepy flower.
But Lily also imagined a problem: a tiny, grumpy caterpillar, munching on the leaves. Lily felt a twinge of sadness for the caterpillar, feeling the caterpillar didn't know how to be patient.
She pictured the flower, her flower, gently swaying in the breeze. "Perhaps, the flower could just wait," she whispered to Barnaby. "Maybe the caterpillar will be a little more gentle tomorrow." She imagined her flower, her flower in her story, as kind as possible.
Lily, the flower, patiently waited. She waited until the caterpillar finished eating and began to spin its cocoon, and finally, as the sun peeked through the clouds the next morning, she saw a beautiful butterfly emerge, its wings painted with the colors of the garden.
Lily smiled. It wasn't a wild, exciting story, but it was a kind story. And it helped her understand that sometimes, waiting and kindness are the best parts of a good story.
Lily closed her eyes, a happy smile on her face. She knew that even though bedtime was the end of the day, it was also the beginning of a new adventure in her dreams. Tomorrow she would imagine a new story about kindness, or patience, or how important it is to prepare for tomorrow, just like she prepared for bed, every night.
She whispered one last time, "Good night, Barnaby. It was a lovely flower-growing story." And as she drifted off to sleep, she dreamt of her own special garden, full of beautiful flowers and butterflies, and the kindest caterpillar she ever knew.