The gift of sufficiency

On Christmas Eve, a young father watches his 3-year-old daughter do her best to meticulously wrap a present. And she feels old enough to do so, without any help from a parent. (Remember that phase?)
Choosing a roll of expensive gold-foil wrapping paper, the girl cuts and re-cuts, using up much of the roll. The longer the father stays the more frustrated he becomes, but says nothing, and watches as his daughter proudly puts the present under the tree.
Feeling embarrassed about his irritation, on Christmas morning the father puts on a cheerful face, ready for the gift exchange. His daughter hands him his gift, the very present she worked so hard to cover with the expensive gold foil.
Unwrapping the gift, the father finds an ordinary cardboard box. And the box, is empty. For whatever reason, something inside tips, and he erupts at his daughter, in an angry tone, “Honey, don’t you know how rude this is? When you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside. You never give someone an empty box.”
The little girl looks up at her father, with tears on her face, and she says, “But Daddy, it wasn’t empty when I wrapped it. I promise. I filled it full of kisses. And they were all for you when you needed them.”

This story stands alone.
Sometimes we preachers and writers need to just, well, keep quiet. And sit a spell with a good story.
But the more I read it, the more it tugs at me. And it tells me that empty boxes are not always what they seem.
We (all of us) see what we want to see. Or more specifically, influenced (and directed) by our disquiet, anxiety and frustration, a cognitive dissonance that determines what and how we see the world. It is no surprise then that we drag with us, a partiality to see empty boxes.
Meaning that we see (or focus on) what we think we don’t have. In past Sabbath Moments I’ve talked about “scotoma” or selective blindness. So, instead of sufficiency, our paradigm is scarcity, “empty” meaning no possibilities, or potential. (Living “at the mercy of,” or defensively.)
And it is so easy to scapegoat the father in this story. We would have never been so shortsighted, we tell ourselves. And yet. Every time I read a book about how to be more attentive or kind or loving or caring or prayerful, I do my best to follow the author’s advice hoping to avoid going through what they went through to learn their lessons. But in the end, I do, in fact, go through what they went through, so, in the end, it’s all about what I take with me on the other side.
And here’s my conundrum: With regard to learning and growing, I don’t wait well. It’s not my strong suit. Or, on my list of favorite things to do (it doesn’t make my top 25). (Perhaps you can relate?) And if I have to wait, I have a tendency to create expectations (too often unrealistic) and like the young father in the story—in the end, I see only empty boxes.
I’m like a four-year-old, five minutes out of the driveway on any family trip, “Are we there yet?” So, here’s how it plays out: I wait and fidget and fret and do my best ADHD imitation. And because I have it (life) all worked out in my head, I foreclose on what is about to happen. Meaning? I’m not really present for the moment when it arrives. And, I miss the kisses.

Like that young father, I know what it feels like to lose it. You know, pointless anger. About things that weren’t all that important, and with people who had nothing to do with the problem. I know that my anger came from a place of impatience. Somehow, I feel “out of control.”
Ah yes… because, sometimes, life doesn’t go the way we plan.
“Expensive paper” is wasted.
We don’t get the present we expect.
And when we unwrap it, we end up with a serious case of heart burn. Our plans are so well intentioned.

This reminds me of another story, about a young couple (a long long time ago) looking for lodging.
Their plans called for an inn, hopefully, a semi-comfortable inn.
What awaited them?
An empty stable.
With not much to offer, but straw and starlight. And if you listen, the songs of angels.
Yes. You never know what the empty box holds.
I can’t tell you what to do with your week, but I invite you to this: If you receive an empty box—Pause. Be open. Listen. Live into the moment. Receive the gift. Savor the kisses. And share them with those who need them.
Embrace what Hermann Hesse called (as the world was about to come unworlded by its first global war) “the little joys”. Yes, and amen. These little joys becoming the slender threads from which we weave the lifeline that saves us.

Oh, can I tell you the rest of the story? The man who told me this story has an office, and employees. And take a guess, what is on his desk? Yes, an “empty” box. Full of kisses. Because you never know when someone may need one. An affirmation. A reminder of sufficiency.

I spent this past Friday with a welcoming group at the Oak Crest Community Center in Baltimore, MD. We talked about embracing the present moment. So, we laughed and cried, told stories, and made heartfelt art with crayons.

Quote for our week…
Where there is no love, put love and you will find love. St. John of the Cross 

Today’s Photo Credit: “Terry, this ‘letting God in’ is real stuff! Thanks for sharing true rest. The retreat at Cape May, NJ among the migrating birds including this Great Egret was restorative to my soul. Gratefully,” Bob Keener… Thank you Bob… Thank you to all, I love your photos… please keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com 

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Letters that do my heart good…
–Dear Terry, I am sorry for you and your friends in Asheville. I hope that you are well and able to access water and food. Over the years, we’ve spent much of our vacation times in Western North Carolina. One of my sanctuary places is Pisgah Inn. We rode our motorcycle from one end of the Blue Ridge Parkway to the other one year. I was in tears when I saw that the entire business district in Chimney Rock is gone and Lake Lure is full of debris. Please know that I am holding you and all the people who have been touched by this devastating storm. I live in Woodstock Georgia and we had 11 inches of rain, but when the storm veered east, we were spared the winds. I pray that you and your friends will remain safe and in spite of everything that’s going on around you, that you will find peace. Paulette
–Terry, I so enjoyed your talk and storytelling… we remember stories! When you said, “when did you stop dancing,” I was reminded of my breakthrough experience of throwing myself a black tie optional 50th bday party (how strange some would say) and it was out of my comfort zone but I did it anyway!  The invitation is enclosed as well as my thank you note. I think you will resonate with my other swing! Thank you for the joy we felt yesterday! Annette
–Terry, Thank you. Your stories and sharing make my day. I look forward to reading Sabbath Moments during the week. God bless, Toni
–Hi Terry, I like your phrase, “sit and savor”. That is what I’m doing this morning in Michigan. Sitting in my recliner, (at age 90) I view the brown-gold oak leaves, the black squirrels, the feisty chipmunks, the confident Blue Jays at the suet. Peace to you. Pat