Devotion 308 - Boxes

There was a sweetness that settled over my heart.

We had exactly one more day of school before Christmas break.

I settled the children in front of a Christmas movie.  Television, the luxury of those that have ‘finished’ something.  For us, it was treats for the Christmas parties at school, teachers’ gifts as well as our last bit of homework. 

We collectively exhaled. 

I thought of all the things I could do in the precious hour that felt like a gift in my hands.   I could address more Christmas cards.  I could create the Christmas dinner grocery list.  I could do the laundry that had escaped me over the last weekend of busy holiday festivities, but the urge to sit and enjoy the flavor of Christmas was too grand.   I searched my list for something I could do whilst watching our Christmas movie. 

My husband was at Christmas choir practice.  It was the perfect time to wrap his few presents that had nestled themselves in my closet.  Many years ago Brian and I started the tradition of finding special Christmas wrap that somehow signified something sentimental or beautiful from our year.  This year would be a little different.  This year I had bought a bit of wrap but I had also found beautifully printed Christmas boxes.  I only had a small handful of gifts and realized this chore would be done in short order.  The boxes had been purchased on sale at a craft store and were truly too beautiful to wrap.  Just ribbon would do and I had that in hand.

I had two special gifts.  I took each and their perspective boxes and realized the neither gift actually dimensionally fit in either box.  

I grabbed my son Beau and pawned one box off on him.  He adored the box and realized he would now be off the hook on wrapping his dad’s gift.  The second I left empty.  Surely I would find just the right thing to fit in this box, but not tonight.

I hid the gifts as my husband returned home.  In his hands was a present from a friend.  I quickly placed it under the tree.  My children hated that idea.  They insisted since it came before Christmas, it was meant to be opened before Christmas.  Needless to say, I took little convincing.  It was a beautiful gift in an extraordinary box.  The box was velvet with lovely writing and tiny jewels.  My children were enchanted and each asked if they could have the box, knowing the contents now belonged to me. 

I felt like Solomon sitting on the seat of judgment.  Wanting to make this a “teachable” moment, I asked them to each write down what they would use the box for.  I was sure with one day left of school writing a few paragraphs would be a distasteful request; I was wrong.

The next morning came.  Their paragraphs greeted me at the breakfast table.  Each eloquent, each convincing, and each poking the slightest bit of fun at the other as to why their purposes for my beautiful little box were better.  I was stymied.  I was also not Solomon.

My children flew down the stairs filled with excitement for their last day of school.  They sat at the table and before the judge asking who would get the box.  I quipped that the jury was still out and encouraged them to dress and pack for school.

We got in the car and I realized there was a part of me that was looking forward to two weeks without this morning drive to school.  Every morning we get in the car at virtually the same time.  Every morning my daughter in the backseat frantically asks what time it is.  And, every morning my son in the front seat will lie and tell her it is at least thirty minutes past the actual time.  Every morning, my daughter will scream and demand the correct time and wax poetic about how terribly awful it would be to be late for school.

Every morning I remind her that so far this year we have not been tardy and every morning she will remind me that yes, BUT we have been very close.

Every morning I wonder where this worry and fret comes from.  Every morning I look in my rear view mirror as I talk to her and realize it has come from me.

We leave the house with me saying words like, “hurry up,” and questioning if they “want to be late?”  All this translating into the message that we should hurry and we should worry and life will suddenly end as we know it if we don’t become masters of both.

Every morning I repent and the next morning the vicious cycle repeats itself.

Children are these amazing, extraordinary boxes that we fill, then suddenly the day arrives that we must tie a bow around them as we release the strings of the apron.  We set them out in the world and wonder with what exactly we have filled them.

Have we filled them with truth and love and the eyes to see Jesus in the world and the hands to bring Him to the suffering?  Or have we filled them with fear, with eyes to see injustice and no tools to defeat it?

I realized the folly of filling Christmas boxes when it is hearts I need to be filling and souls I need to be nurturing, not just in my car, but in my mirror. 

It is days later.  I still have one empty box in my closet.  We stroll through the streets of Chicago.  It is our annual trip.  We have set our itinerary - the market, lunch, the holiday windows and shopping.  One more gift to buy, a dozen more to wrap.  My thoughts dance in the myriad of decorations in the windows and on the trees.

We have brought little gifts in our backpack for the homeless.  My eyes bounce from the beautiful windows to anyone sitting on the street corners.  They could use a bit of Christmas cheer and I pray.  My son is our delivery boy and I know as the day winds down we have just one or two gifts with a bit of cash, a Gospel message and a snack.  I cannot see her face, but I can read her sign.

It is written on a box, a large big box, folded over her to seal her from the cold air.

“All I want for Christmas is a big box of HOPE.”    “God bless you.”

My son brings her our small gift.  And I realize her wish for me has already been granted.  He has blessed me my dear woman, and my heart whispers a thank you to her and to Him. 

The box Beloved can remain empty as long as our hearts remain full.   As long as we draw breath, He fills.  He fills it with love; He fills with hope and He fills with courage.  He knows the days are long, confusing and busy, but He does not tire of pouring Himself out.  We only need to position our ears to listen, our eyes to see, our hearts to be filled with the extraordinary gift of HOPE.

Hope from His suffering, Hope from His resurrection.  Hope that He not only came as a Baby, but as a Conqueror and we will one day meet Him as our King.

HOPE  

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. “Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself.”  Matthew 6:25-34