A few years ago, a good friend of mine took his three-year-old daughter, Amy, to her first circus. Before the event her father tried his best to describe the exciting atmosphere of the big top. She asked lots of questions along the way. Would she get to pet the elephant? Could she swing on the trapeze? Would the clowns come and talk to her? The night before, she could hardly sleep. She woke her parents with: "Daddy, Daddy, come on. We can't be late."

As they drove to the circus grounds, Amy's eyes sparkled. When they finally arrived, he had to hold her hand tightly to keep her from running ahead of him. He bought her peanuts and Cracker Jacks before taking their seats in the stands. Amy giggled as her father put the ring in the Cracker Jack box on her finger, pointing out the three rings in the center of the tent.

"When's it going to start, Daddy? When's it going to start?" she asked again and again.

Finally it began.

Amy clapped her hands to the music and squealed with delight as she watched the parade of animals and performers. Her eyes darted back and forth, not knowing which of the three rings to watch.

Suddenly, Amy became very still and quiet.

"What is it, Amy?" my friend asked.

"Daddy," she said, her voice filled with awe, "They did all this just for me."