Just taking a momentary pause from 'the gift....'

What a wonderful day today. Picked up Kaylyn from school and we took a bit of a road trip -- to Westcliffe, which is about 45 minutes away. Along the way, saw some phenomenal colors (which reminds me of the discourse I recently had with a friend that I intend to address here someday soon). Discovered a fun and clean bowling alley. Yes, I did win. What's sad is that I only out-bowled Kaylyn (remember, she's 5), by 20 pins, and Cotter (3 1/2) by about 30 pins. It's not that they're bowling prodigies, either, I am just that bad. Kelli and I did each bowl one strike. We all wore these kicky pink and yellow matching bowling shoes, too. We dined at Village Inn, and then hit the local Gibson's, which is going out of business. I was very excited to find several shirts that can be worn in public, all to be had for under $5. I am the king of discount clothing.

I do rejoice in simple pleasures. The smiles of my children. The laugh of my dear wife (with me, not at me). Five dollar clothing. A biblical promise. A warm bed. a long shower. A cup of coffee followed by a mountain dew code red. Getting to write. Seeing bighorn sheep on an afternoon drive.

I'm a little overwhelmed looking forward to the week ahead. On Sunday, the church is having a pastor appreciation banquet after worship. Which really will be nice -- our church is great to us. It does mean, however, that I won't take my normal sunday afternoon nap -- so I'm making Kelli put me to bed early tomorrow. Then Sunday night's study in Revelation deals with the church in thyatira which is fairly critical on the catholic church (although I'm really more interested in the address to the church in Sardis, which is a criticism on the reformed church). Then, Monday morning I'll be at the men's bible study at 5 a.m., doing a funeral at 11 a.m., and heading to our annual state meeting in the afternoon for a few days. I'm not griping -- really. I like a busy schedule, it just seems that it is so theorhetical when it's on your planner a month in advance (except the funeral, I learned about that today), and then when it happens, it's just like a whirlwind, and after it's all passed, you just let out your breath that you didn't realize you had been holding the entire time.

My latest diversion has been on-line reversi. I don't stay too long, because I almost always get beat. but It seems to satisfy my random-abstract mentalities from time to time. I just got trounced as I wrote this.

As I said before, we're going to the annual state meeting this upcoming week. I'm really looking forward to the pastor's conference. It is such a "filling" time for me. Last year, Fermin Whitaker, the exec. director for California preached such an incredible message. I think there will be a tribute to Rick Ferguson, too, which will be special.

Okay, I've typed myself into sleepiness. nighty night night.

The Gift -- A Parable delivered in small packages
copyright 2002 by Bryan McAnally

When BDS dropped the box off at our home, it was a typical Saturday morning at the Kind household. My wife Kate answered the door with our youngest child perched on her hip, our middle child wrapped around her leg, and our oldest yelling for some TPA (Toilet Paper Assistance) from the bathroom. I was in the living room watching College Game Day on ESPN. She signed for the box with her left hand and had the deliverer put in on the kitchen counter. Much to the baby's dismay, she set him down and brought the box into the living room.

"Did you order something from Cabela's again?"

"Shhh. They're talkin about the Buff game."

"Don't shush me. Did you order something from Cabela's?"

I turned my attention from the television to see her holding the box with the 'you-don't-have-money-to-take-me-out-but-you-have-money-to-buy-new-hip-waders' look on her face.

"No, I didn't order anything from Cabela's. I haven't ordered anything from anywhere. Are you sure you haven't ordered one of your 'Expressions in jade' things from QVC again?"

She actually pondered the possiblity, but replied, "No. I've received everything I've ordered. Just a minute." She set the box on the coffee table next to my bowl of nacho chips and went and helped our oldest complete 'mission impossible' in the bathroom.

Looking at the box, something clicked. I remembered that at work the other day, while we were on break, my buddy Mitch had told me how his wife had come home with a box the night before, and was really excited to show him what was inside. He told her to come back after Monday night football was over. So Mitch's wife had shown the box to their kids instead.

Kate came out of the bathroom, detoured to pick up the baby who was still loudly telling the world how unhappy he was about being left alone, and came back in to the living room.

"Did you open it?" she asked.

"No, I just remembered about Nick. His wife brought home one of these. He said now his whole family is acting weird."

It was as if a light turned on behind Kate's eyes. "That's right! Janey told me about this. Except she called it 'a gift.' She said that she received an unexpected gift and she shared it with her kids. She said that it has changed her life. And the kids, too. She said that their attitude has improved, they mind better, and she's a whole new person, too. She just wishes Mitch would be willing to receive the gift, too."

"Wow. that's pretty impressive," I finally said, although the look on my face said otherwise. I was ready for this conversation to be over. Kickoff was five minutes away.

"Well," Kate prompted. "Do you want to know what's inside?"

"I'll tell you what," I said. "It sounds great. I think its wonderful if you think this gift will help your life be better. And I'll be the first to agree that the kids need this. So why don't you open this up with them, and I'll take a look at it later."

The look of disappointment on her face was obvious. We both knew that I, like Mitch, had no intentions of joining them.

Kate picked up the box and called the kids into another room.

I barely heard their sounds of pleasant surprise through the roar of the crowd on TV.

The Gift -- A Parable delivered in small packages
copyright 2002 by Bryan McAnally

When I arrived home, it was perched on my porch swing.
Sitting on the porch, or placed there by someone else
I wasn't sure, but it seemed to be waiting for me.
I asked my neighbor while he watered his petunias
if he knew from where this came.
He said a deliverer was looking for Connie Fuso.
So he pointed her to my door.

This newfound item was squarely confounding.
A cubic conundrum, so to speak.
I picked it up and took it in with me, determined to solve its riddle.

I held it in my hands, slowly turning it
examining it
questioning it
challenging it
pleading with it to explain itself.

It didn't respond.

It was if this crazy thing was secure in its own identity
as if I had to reconcile its existence with my own.

It was flawless. Without marks or blemishes.

I figured that if showed up on my doorstep, it was making itself available to me.
I figured it was up to me to make it what I wanted it to be.

I tried to sit on it -- it held my weight, but wasn't comfortable.
I tried to stand upon it -- but such heights give me vertigo
I tried to lean on it -- I kept falling when I'd prop it on its edge.
I tried to lay upon it -- my limbs hung over and grew numb
I tried to sleep on it -- it was clearly not designed to be a pillow, and my chiropracter got rich off that mistake.
I tried to sleep under it -- every time I tossed and turned, I cast it aside and grew cold.
I tried to eat on it -- my peas kept rolling off it, and my food wouldn't stay warm.
I tried to entertain it -- it seemed unmoved by my hilarity
I tried to be entertained by it -- okay, it was more enjoyable than a lot of the shows on TV, but I still got bored.
I tried to travel with it -- I always ended up dragging it or carrying it, and that became wearisome.
I tried to argue with it -- its stoic face seemed to refute all my profound logic
I tried to deny it -- but every day, I still found it there.

I hollered at it, cried to it, laughed at it, scorned it, mocked it, ridiculed it. I pleaded with it, teased it, cajoled it.
I bribed it, threatened it, abused it, belittled it, accused it for making my life so difficult.

And do you know what it reacted?

Nothing! How infuriating.

Just this morning, I was off to work, having just wasted another hour trying to (unsuccessfully) apply my make-up using one of its sides as a mirror,
when my neighbor (again, watering his petunias) said something very odd.

"Hey Conni," he said (that's not the odd part), "what was in the box?"

Excuse me?

"Yeah, the box you took in a while back. What was in it?"

I gave him a look that told him to stick his nose in his petunias and leave it there.

But really.

A box. That opens. And contains something inside of it.

How silly.

I tell you this, though. He's given me an idea.

When I get home, I'm going to pick that thing up, give it one more good look...maybe say something profound to it....

and put it in a box.

The Gift -- A Parable delivered in small packages
copyright 2002 by Bryan McAnally

knockknockknock
what do you want?
BDS...got a package for Mr. Dementi
Brown Delivery Systems...I didn't order anything.
Are you Mr. John Dementi?
Yeah...that's me.
Well, I've got a package for you.
No you don't.
Well, sir, yes, I do. Right here. I'll hold it up to the spyhole for you.
Okay, I see the package. But I don't want it.
You don't want it?
Nope, don't want it.
Don't you even want to know what's in it?
Nope. My life is enough of a mess with everything as it is. Why make it worse?
Umm...maybe it'll make your life better...
Nope. Not possible.
So, you definitely do not want it?
Nope. Return to Sender.
Okay.....Sir....I've just noticed something in my instructions. The package isn't allowed to go out void.
What does that mean?
It means you have to acknowledge receipt of the package.
Who says?
The Sender.
The Sender? Who is it?
It just says here..."Giver of Life's Greatest Gift."
Sounds like a scam -- like one of those 'dream vacation' companies.. I still don't want it.
Sir, it also says here..."Satisfaction Guaranteed."
Guaranteed, or what?
I don't know, it doesn't say. Just "Satisfaction Guaranteed."
Hmmm
So, will you open the door to receive your package?
.....
.....
Sir?
....
....
Mr. Dementi?
....
Nah. I don't want it. It's not for me.
But sir, it is for you. And there's no C.O.D.
Nope. You take it.
I can't do that. I'd lose my job.
I won't tell.
But I'd know. I can't do it. Besides, this is for you.
Nope.
Well, I'm just going to leave it here, sir. In front of your door.
Fine with me. I'll just pretend like its not there.
I don't know sir. It's going to be right in your way. There's really no getting around it.
You'd be surprised at what I can do, when I set my mind to it.
Okay, Mr. Dementi, if that's what you want.
That's what I want.
Have a nice day.
Whatever.

The Gift -- A Parable delivered in small packages
copyright 2002 by Bryan McAnally

The knock on the door came just as I was reaching for the knob to leave for work. Looking through the spyhole I saw the neighborhood deliveryman dressed in brown. He held a small box under his left arm, cradled in the nook between his bicep and forearm. I opened the door and said, "Good morning, Mr. Brown."

He smiled, but clearly didn't get my pun.

"Rick Osservi?"

"Yeah, that's me," I said.

"Here you go," he said, handing me the box.

"Thanks." I took the box, turning at the waist and set it on the counter to the right of the door.

"Sign here." He handed me the electronic clipboard and I scrawled my name across the lcd surface.

"Have a good day," the deliverer said over his shoulder as he scuttled off to his next address.

I shut the door and turned to the box. I wasn't expecting the box. No one had told me to watch for a delivery. Yet, there it was. A box. An 18-inch cube. No markings to identify it in an unusual manner. I picked it up. It wasn't light, but it wasn't really heavy, either.

I turned it in my hands, examining all sides.It really was a nice box. It was new, obviously not one that had been reused. None of the corners had been crunched or banged. Great care had been taken to get it to my address.

The cardboard was smooth, and was sealed by some sort of glue rather than tape. I shook it. I could hear the sounds of the box shifting inside, but not cluttering around. It had been packed well.

I raised it to my nose. Sniffed it. Nothing.

I pressed my ear against it, straining to hear. Nothing.

I stuck out my tongue and licked the surface of the box. It tasted...

papery.

I turned it in my hands once again, puzzled and amazed that I would receive something so nice and unusual. I decided that this gift was too nice to leave in the house, so I picked up the box, cradled it under my arm in the same manner as had the delivery man, and packed it off with me to work.

I was amazed. As I drove to work, I noticed that people all over the streets were walking around with boxes just like mine. Why hadn't I noticed it before?

When I walked into my office, I noticed for the first time that the office manager had an identical box on her desk.

"You have a box?"

"I sure do. I've had it right here for a dozen years," she said.

"Really, a dozen years? How come I've never noticed it?"

"Well," she answered, "I bring it with me every day because I love it so much. It really is a fine box. But I don't talk about it much. It's my box. It's personal."

I nodded my head in understanding. "I get it. I don't want to impose, but do you think that maybe you and I and a few others around here who have boxes would want to get together once in a while and talk about our boxes?"

She thought about it for a moment. "You know, Rick, I think that is a really good idea. Let's meet this weekend at my house. Let's walk around and find everyone with a box and invite them over to have a discussion about the box."

"Okay, that sounds great."

I was a man on a mission. Over the next three days, I walked all through my office building, looking for people with boxes. When it was all said and done, I had invited 9 people to come to Nita Ansicht's house (she's the office manager). Four showed up. Victor Relogio, Wilma Montre, Paul Attenzio, and Leo Kose. Each one brought their box with them. I came prepared with more than my box. I came with a detailed history of cardboard. How it was made, when the first boxes were folded. I even found some things on the internet that had some interesting theories about the boxes and why they were delivered. The group was really impressed with the time of study and discussion we had. Nita shared a beautiful old song about the box that she learned from her great-grandmother (who, we were told, brought her own box over from Germany as a young girl). We agreed to meet again every week in a different home, sharing our experiences about the box, and welcoming others who had boxes of their own.

That was several years ago. Eventually, more and more people came. We moved to a meeting room, and then eventually raised enough money to build a special building just for us box-holders. We listened to special box-speakers, learned more box-songs, and held special box-studies. Every once in a while, we would have box parties. These parties actually started something odd for the box-holders. Some of the box-holders began to decorate the boxes. Ornate paper covered the boxes. Fancy ribbons. Colorful artwork. It was generally agreed that the boxes were better this way, more appealing. I don't have a problem with them doing that; after all it's their box, and it's a personal thing. For me, though, I've never kept it just as I got it. A few others feel the way I do. We don't make a big deal about it, but there's tension between those who decorate and those who do not.

Regardless, I love my cardboard box. I really consider it a precious gift. I keep it on my mantle, and I reflect upon it often. I even wear a little necklace that has a small golden square on it. And if people ask me about it, I tell them about my box. Once, someone asked me what was inside the box.

Isn't that a silly question? Why would I ever ruin the box by opening it? There are times when I think about opening it, though, I have to confess. There might be something in there that would really be neat to have. Maybe something that would really be a help in a time of need. But to open it would be risky. It might just change my life. So it's better this way. Safer. As long as the box stays closed, its contents are whatever I imagine it to be. After all, its my box.

All mine.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place
copyright 2002 by Bryan McAnally

Here he comes
Are you sure its Him?
Oh, yeah, I'm sure.
How can you tell?
I just can. And if you just look at Him, you'll be sure, too.
Well, okay...it is Him. So now what?
I'm going to praise Him
Praise Him? What does that mean?
I don't know, really. But I just can't hold it back any longer.
Hold what back?
My voice.
Your voice?
My voice.
I don't mean to be cynical, but...
But what?
Your voice isn't much to behold.
Says who?
Says me, that's who.
I bet its beautiful to the one who made me!
Well, I can't argue that. I've always said that you've got features that only your daddy could love.
Well, my voice is no different. And I'm about to shout out my praise.
Again, I don't mean to be so...contrarian...
But?
But, you aren't going to be saying anything.
Oh yeah?
Yeah.
Why not?
Because you aren't allowed.
I'm not allowed.
You're not allowed.
Says who?
Says Him.
wow. look at how close He is.
He really is impressive.
Even though He's not much to look at.
now you're beginning to sound like them.
You know what I mean.
Yes, I do, but still....
Well, at least I know who He is.
They can't seem to get that figured out, can they?
Prophet. Priest. King. Reincarnation of someone else...
Yeah, but we know...
He's God.
God.
In the flesh.
In the flesh.
Skin and bones
Heart and soul.
God in man.
The Word...incarnate.
And that's why I'm going to shout it out.
Why?
So they can get it straight!
But you can't!
But they're making it so much harder than it needs to be!
You still can't!
Maybe if they heard it from me, they'd figure it out!
No, probably not.
But maybe they would!
My friend, that's not your call to make!
But if I shouted my praise...
You...
my love
can't...
my worship
do...
my adoration
that!
I know.
As long as one of them is around offering their praise...
I have to remain...
Close-mouthed.
Muzzled
Restrained.
Censored.
Silent.

Wait...
What?
Look at Him.
I can't not look at Him. He is Lord.
But doesn't He look sad?
Why is He sad? People are throwing their coats before Him, singing Hosannah.
Maybe He knows something we don't.
Uh...yeah, probably.
Sarcasm never did suit you well. Where do you think He's going?
I can't even imagine.
He looks so sad.
And yet He goes.
Of course He does. He's on a mission.
He'll accomplish His purpose.
Of course He will.
He's God.
Praise His Name.
Jesus.
Lord.
God.
Almighty.
Amen.
***
Then, as He was now drawing near the descent of the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice for all the mighty works they had seen, saying: " `Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!' Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!'' And some of the Pharisees called to Him from the crowd, "Teacher, rebuke Your disciples.'' But He answered and said to them, "I tell you that if these should keep silent, the stones would immediately cry out.''
Luke 19:37-40