The Little Blue Box

(originally posted January 2011)

Anyone who knows me at all knows that my car is somewhat of a, well, junk-collector. In fact, last time the kiddos rode in my dad’s car they said: “Becca, your car ain’t never been this clean.” Out of the mouth of children comes truth my friends.

When we pulled up to April’s temporary residence the other day, children literally poured from the house and packed themselves into every crevice of my car. They were determined it was going to snow and they could come spend the night at our house. Besides feeling slightly panicky at the thought of Toddrick (who most likely needs some ADHD medication or at the very least a little Super-Nanny) running around my house, I was pretty convinced that Tuesday night was not going to bring snow (and lo and behold I was right. As usual).

Oh my rabbit trail.

Anyways, while the kids were in the car, they discovered all manner of knick-knacks and trash-like items, which they were determined they should keep. In fact, I let them have approximately 19 diet coke cans in order to hide my major slight problem from Adam. Oh I kid. But seriously, sweet little Ray-Ray found a tiny little blue box (which at one point held earrings, which are now lost. Probably somewhere in my car). He begged me to let him keep it. I peeked inside to make sure it didn’t contain my missing earrings, and then readily agreed. Because, you know, one less thing for me to throw away.

After much ferrying and transporting of items and people from residence to apartment and back again (a journey which involved being tailed for a good 10 minutes by some undercover cops. Who were very sneaky and under-cover-like hiding in the Bluffs in an unmarked car holding 4 white guys in black caps and gov’t plates). We finally dropped April and the babies back off. We were just getting ready to pull out of the driveway, when Ray Ray came running back out to hand me the little blue box. Despite my assurances that it was for him to keep forever, he insisted that I take it, whispering in my ear that there was a present inside. Grinning and winking at him, I took the box and hurried to the car in an attempt to escape the frigid cold. It’s like I never even lived in Canada with my low tolerance for sub-zero weather.

Pulling out of the neighborhood, I peeked inside the box, and saw a crumpled up one dollar bill. And in that moment, I melted into a puddle on the ground. I mean that gift, my friends, was one of the truest expressions of loving kindness and sacrifice I have ever received. All of a sudden, I was able to understand Jesus’ words about the widow who sacrificed everything. Giving her few coins when it was all she had. Sacrificial Giving. The kind of giving that Jesus described in Luke when he said: "All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on" (Luke 21:4).

So what does it look like in my life, in your lives, to give sacrificially? I dont even know the answer to that. But I know that we are all living in poverty in one way or another: be it relationally, personally, materially, spiritually . . . So out of my lack, out of my poverty, I will give.

“I will not sacrifice to the LORD my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing." (2 Sam 24:24)