Treasure in a Box

A precious memory from the days when my now-biggish kids were little...

Tired from a long morning of momming and ready for my afternoon break, I took the kids upstairs for their naps, then returned to the kitchen to put away some dishes.  

Minutes later I felt the gentlest tug at my shirt.  My eldest, then a sandy-haired kindergartener, knew Mama could get grumpy about appearances during what was supposed to be naptime, and his face registered cautious hesitation as he stood with his hands cupped together in front of him. But his dark eyes also held a hint of some mysterious excitement that I couldn’t resist.  “What is it, child?”

He opened his clasped hands to reveal a flat white star, not much bigger than a quarter.  There were, I knew, a dozen or so more of its brothers on the ceiling of his bedroom, clustered in a glow-in-the-dark constellation above his bed.  

Picturing all sorts of shenanigans that might have knocked the star down, I gave him my best Tell Me The Truth look.  “How did you get that?”

He gazed at the star and then at me.  “I looked down on the floor and I saw this and I thought it must have fallen off the ceiling."  His eyes turned once more to the small object in his hands.  "And I was just so glad that I was able to hold a star.”

Little boy.  Sweet boy.  Darling small child who once was. I’m so glad, too – so glad that for a little while I was able to hold a star . . . to gaze into my hands as they pulled you in for a hug and behold something so precious, so perfect, so lovely that it almost hurt to look at it.

I reassured Isaac that we would put the star back up on the ceiling where it belonged, but in the meantime he’d have to take very good care of it.  “Oh, I will.  You know that little box on my nightstand – the wooden box with the little latch?  I’ll keep it in there, and I’ll be so, so careful with it.”

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Sometimes we don't notice the stars.  There are so many, and they are there with so much faithful consistency, that we forget to marvel.

As we walk through each day we neglect to notice the colors, the smells, the sounds.  We forget to wonder how, and why. We forget to take our glasses off and let the tree lights blur and feel from the inside the joy of living a loved life.

Lord grant that I might see, every day, the beautiful treasure that is in my hands. All the little treasures. Let me look at the world, at my life, with the wondering, trusting eyes of a child.

And when, for a heart-pause moment, I see with sudden clarity one of the thousands of blessings hidden along each day's path, Lord grant that I might be so, so careful with it.

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In this Christmas season, I can’t help thinking of another little treasure, a star that so clearly belonged in the heavens but came down to be with us for a while.  There’s a baby in the manger.  He’s a child, and He’s God.  I can’t comprehend, but I can sit still and marvel that He’s here.  And I can tuck Him safely in the little box that is my heart, and be warmed from within by the glow of God’s unfathomable love for me. 

First published in The Alpena News on December 21,2015.