Have you ever scrolled through hundreds of photos, very quickly, in search of the one you are looking for? I’m sure you have. We all do it. Daily. Searching for the moment to share with another.

In preparation forI found myself going back in time Chaim Boruch’s bar mitzvah, I was looking for photos of him from the past 12 years. I found myself scrolling on my laptop, sifting through thousands of family photos, going back in time.

And then, as if I was entirely transported to a time and space far away, I stopped scrolling at the year he was born.

I look at our family. I study every sibling’s face. I stare at my smile. I see nothing but love, laughter and happiness. I see peacefulness. I see calm. I see acceptance.

I realize I am holding my breath ... and finally exhale. I sit for a moment, grateful I am alone in my thoughts. What I realize is that things were so much easier then.

I wonder why ...

Was it because I was so much younger? Was it because I didn’t have time to look at the future? Was I oblivious? In denial? Does it only look easier, and in reality, I am simply just further from those heartbeats of mine in those early days?

Or is it because I was simply grateful? Grateful for a special gift?

I don’t know.

I continue to wonder about the present.

I scroll up to photos that I took yesterday. I see nothing but love, laughter and happiness. I see peacefulness. I see calm. I see acceptance.

I reflect what I feel in my heart and do a quick reality check.

Yes, it is true. Things are harder. A lot harder.

We have a new relationship. A new line of communication. He wants to share, and “talk” and relate. And I listen to his gestures, his noises, his cues, and I guess what he is trying to “say.” Sometimes, I guess right and sometimes, I am so very wrong.

He is easily frustrated and stubborn. He does not understand my point of reason, and I don’t understand where my patience has gone.

I plead with him, with the desperate look in my eyes, but to no avail.

A storm has begun, and it has silenced the sunshine. The high pitch of the thunder and crack of lightning shatter my nerves. There is nothing left but my shallow breath. I have used all my resources and my toolbox lays empty, strewn across my home.

And in these moments, things are hard. A lot harder.

But look at theA storm has begun, and it has silenced the sunshine photos.

The ones taken with my heart.

They are vibrant, full of emotion, full of love and passion and gratitude.

G‑d, You gave me a magnificent gift.

My special son who transforms me, inspires me and teaches me.

On bright sunny days and in midst of a raging storm.

The midrash teaches us that when we received the Torah at Mount Sinai, the very place the Jewish people gathered to receive the Torah was covered with beautiful greenery and sweet-smelling flowers.

Mount Sinai was in a desert, and I can only imagine such an exquisite miracle.

And yet, if I think about it, there are many days where my desert is blossoming, too.

In fact, it is blooming.

Despite little water and little strength.

Chaim Boruch is my miracle, and he will forever teach me to bloom where I am planted.