THE PRICELESS CHRISTMAS BOX

 

Roi Tan Cigar Box, Emporia, KS

There’s a lot of wonderful children’s books to read to our kids during the holidays like the classic Christmas story of Jesus’ birth and childhood movies to watch like Toy Story 3.  The classic book about the Littlest Angel got my attention years ago and on the surface it’s a nice story about simple childhood treasures, love and sharing.  I do object to the notion that children die because God needs another little angel in heaven and I don’t believe we’re converted into angels, although many saints reside there. 

When the Son of God was born in Bethlehem and heavenly hosts were bringing elaborate gifts, God chooses the little boy’s earthly box because it contained his wonderful collection of a butterfly with golden wings, a sky-blue egg, two white stones and a leather collar that had belonged to his dog that had lived in absolute love and infinite devotion.  And His son was born to be king of both men and earth.

The Christmas box and the assortment of toys that the older boy was leaving behind in Toy Story 3 as he left for college reminded me of my grandfather’s cigar box that is still in my possession which contains the remnants of my own boyhood.  The sandbox my father made for me one Christmas was the scene of endless adventures for the cowboys, Indians, knights in shining armor and soldiers that I spent endless hours entertaining.  The skate key, birthday card signed “Mom and Grandpa”, arrowhead, model airplane alligator clips, game die, cat’s eye marbles, sand dollar and sea shells evoked precious memories.  The worn 1951 dog tag was given to me when my dad announced that our loyal family dog Patches had succumbed to being hit by a passing automobile.  That was my first encounter with death and losing a loved one—and the beginning of lost innocence.

I’d like to think that the contents of my priceless cigar box would be a good example of every earth boy’s Christmas toy story and a gift fit for a king who would be their savior!

REDISCOVERING LIFE

Spring Rain into the Gutter, Jamestown, NC

There are people who really didn’t have much of a childhood due to a variety of factors and there are those of us seniors that simply have a hard time remembering back that far.  But like all things in life there can be second chances, especially if you are fortunate to rediscover life through the lens of a child.  And one of the many positive experiences that can come out of this social isolation for those who take the time to reflect is spending more time with the inquisitive children that make up the fabric of our lives.

Jesus was often criticized for spending too much time with human beings such as children and sinners instead of important leaders of the time.  But he famously rebuked his disciples when he told them to ” let the little children come to me” for they haven’t yet acquired all the filters and baggage of seeing the world through the biased eyes of us adults.

Yesterday my grandson was outside walking the rain-soaked streets of Chicago with his parents.  He was quick to discover two common earth worms that had come topside because of the saturated ground.  It was a sight that most of us adults would have easily passed over with indifference.  Then on today’s walk he discovered that one had been trampled and the other was missing.  He understood that the first worm had lost its life on the busy path but the other must surely have escaped into the rushing waters of the gutter and down into the drains.  

When I was a child growing up in central Kansas before the loss of innocence, I remember that we children loved to stay close to the curbing after a Spring rain.  Once the flow slowed, it became great sport to build small mud dams and capture the runoff as it meandered down to the gutters.  Of course, we were barefoot and carefree in those days and I don’t recall finding any earth worms.  But if we did, I’m pretty confident in those innocent times that we would have let them pass onto freedom.  The Carolina rains today prompted me to recall those idyllic days and venture outside in the rain to capture a meaningful photograph of those childhood memories.

Life can be fragile, especially in dire times of a worldwide pandemic, but it can also be introspective for those who are paying attention.  And it can teach those of us who are willing to learn the lesson.

WHITE KNUCKLES

In the Pulpit, Emporia, KS

I recently returned to my hometown church in central Kansas where I was first exposed to the love of God and the sacrifice of His son. I was there on the occasion of my niece’s wedding and I was honored to read scripture for the ceremony. The old limestone Lutheran church was the scene of many Sunday School lessons, good times at Vacation Bible School where we learned the old biblical stories of great adventures and acts of faith (and literally drank the Kool-Aid and ate homemade sugar cookies), memorized and recited good news bible passages about the birth of a savior, fidgeted and squirmed in pews with our parents during the adult services under open windows in the summer, spent vacation days apart from friends who were at baseball games and fishing holes to study for confirmation, and witnessed baptisms, weddings and funerals.

I've carried small white knuckle scars with me my entire life as a result of having my legs mysteriously slip out from under me as my cousin and I were running through the church on some long forgotten childhood week day. The memory is still quite vivid sixty years later, as I was caught completely off guard. I knew we shouldn’t be running through the church and certainly the sanctuary. When I looked down at my knuckles, they were red with fresh blood, as if I had just been whacked with a ruler by an unseen teacher for my rude behavior. It occurred to me that perhaps I actually had been disciplined right there on the spot—and I became more respectful and never ran in church again. Isn’t it funny how those little life lessons stick with us?

Given my rambunctious and adventurous life at the time, it was no surprise to see the response of my classmates as we were finishing our confirmation classes one hot summer morning. Our senior pastor had asked for a show of hands if any of us thought that we might consider doing God’s work when we got older. Since everyone was raising their hands, I sort of moved my hand up so that I wasn’t the odd man out. That solicited a very predictable response from my male peers around the table; “Are you kidding”? “Do you seriously think you might be in a pulpit someday”??? Well, it took about fifty five years to return to that particular pulpit downstairs from our classroom, but I have the proof! And I’ve actually delivered a message from the pulpit in the recent past as I turned the printed pages with arthritic fingers tinged with faint white scars. Many times God uses the least likely candidates to manifest his word in this life so that the divine source is readily apparent. And I still think somebody tripped me in that stairwell, even though I was the only mortal in there at the time!