Giving away treasure…

I have an old box that has always held Christmas tree ornaments, mute reminders of past celebrations when family seemed to fill every corner of our home. We had the habit, inherited from my parents, of decorating the house and putting the tree up, about 2 weeks before Christmas. The gifts arrived under the tree without fanfare, surreptitiously almost, as each person wrapped their secrets one by one – we didn’t want to be caught at the tree if we could help it! 😊 When Pete and I we were at Bible School and had to stretch every penny, we tried to make up for our lack of buying power with lots of small fun things, a stuffed pillowcase tied with a big bow for each of our three little ones. If they were disappointed by the lack of the BIG GIFT – I must remember to ask them some day – they never showed it!😊

The ornaments have become fewer with the years. Some grace the trees of younger members of the family, some have become a memento of the Vans with beloved friends, far away. Some have just been broken in the rough and tumble of family life, so I finger those still here and wonder where they’ll end up. I find I like the idea of an empty box. It’s a well-cared-for old box, decorated with faded pink roses, but only cardboard and when it’s empty, I doubt I’ll repurpose it. Gathering and collecting, acquiring and owning – these are intrinsic to the building of a life, not the dismantling of it, and this dismantling is increasingly attractive to both of us. In truth, we need very little ‘stuff’ to live well, and with some imagination, even graciously.

Strangely, tonight this old box insists on talking to me. It tells me that I can only give away treasures I placed there in the first place and also that the gift is worth more when the recipient is allowed to choose freely. Is it my ego that resists the fact that I am not the judge of whether someone will take as much care as I did of my fragile treasures, or that I can’t tell them to be sure not to lose a figurine from the manger scene? Once given away, the responsibility of care is theirs, and theirs alone.

I’m sure, like me, you value the treasures of your heart. Every time I raised my hands in the humility of human extremity, my heavenly Father put something in the box. Here I see the gold that was produced when the fire of the Spirit burnt up the wood, hay and stubble that I collected all too easily at one stage in my life – there is an exquisite bottle, filled with the oil of Joy, an unexpected product of pain.

My box tends to lie open these days….truth is, it’s too full of the gifts of grace and mercy to close, and right on top there lies the glistening Pearl of Great Price, still crowned by vicious thorns.

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