Someday, I want to write about the importance of “things”,

Someday, I want to write about the importance of “things”, having struggled to do so because love of "things" is antithetical to my belief system.

 

But then there's the yellow jeep next door. And the father who kept it running on the fuel of his memories and dreams. And the three children that loved it - those three precious children, almost six, four, and two, who are our neighborhood “television set”.

You see, our picture window looks out at theirs, and every moment of life is chronicled by their three faces pressed against the window staring out into the world.  When my husband or I leave the house, a muffled thumping often greets us, and a glance skyward reveals three faces with six wildly waving hands as they send us off on our way.  At the season's first snow, their fingertips massaged the glass, and then, in a flurry of activity they suddenly burst out the door and threw themselves with reckless abandon into the snowy cul-de-sac and began making snow angels.

Their father drove the yellow jeep of his younger years into his current adulthood, a jeep with an engine so loud that he would coast down the street before starting it to keep the neighborhood(and his children) in slumber. He knew that one day, with his careful mechanical work, his daughters would adventure in that jeep, then his son, making memories of their own to carry into adulthood.

But then the unthinkable happened. Avoiding a careless driver, he lost control on the freeway and hit a railing, totaling his beloved jeep. Towed back to his driveway, it sat crumpled and beyond repair even by his loving hands. An ad on Craigslist produced a purchaser with a towing trailer, and I watched three little faces gazing out of the window as Dad cut the jeep loose, his shoulders slumped. No hands waved from the second story window, just three little faces, unnaturally still. Mom said the middle daughter cried when she saw the jeep towed away, taking with it a host of opportunities -  though she was light years from even contemplating driving. On some level, it was just a jeep, past its prime and lacking any status or glory in the world's eyes. But to that family, it was more than a “thing" - it was a symbol of blessed times and lifelong possibilities.

That got me to thinking. Maybe sometimes that “thing” we love is nothing more than a wrapper for what is contained within...

I have such a "thing" on my desk at work, for example. It is two crudely drawn and colored gingerbread men holding hands, no more than an inch tall. The young man who gave it to me struggles a bit with reading, but his heart contains the world. He walked up one day in late December and handed it to me. "I made this for you for Christmas," he said and his face glowed at his accomplishment. I pictured his rough, stubby fingers cutting the tiny corners and knew this thing was a wrapper for great love contained within.

Other “things” sit next to the gingerbread men.  A young girl brought a homemade drawing and her leftover Halloween candy.  A gift of great love. Someone drew a picture of an alien and wrote "Merry Christmas" at the bottom in flowery letters.  A gift of great love.

Each time, I was reminded of the widow giving her last coin and the lesson learned of giving from your poverty and not just from your abundance. Except, as I thought about it, this was a story re-wrapped. These kids did not give from any poverty  -  in their hearts, they gave from their abundance. It was as if their spirits called out to mine saying, “I am giving you something beautiful.  I am giving you me.” 

 

Those are the kinds of “things” I treasure and the kinds of “things” I want to give this new year.  And I want to give them freely, as these kids did, from a heart filled with an abundance of love… I want them to be simple extensions of who I am and who I desire to be.

I gaze out the window as the New Year begins.  All traces of that first snow have melted, and the faces that stare out the window in the early morning are shrouded in fog. That yellow jeep once held so dear is gone for good. Its shiny replacement is a blank canvas in the lives of the family across the street, awaiting the imprint of their lives and dreams to give it worth.

And so are we all blank canvases at this moment, awaiting the touch of the Artist from whom all good things flow. Maybe this year each of us can make and give a simple “thing” and be able to say, "I am giving you something beautiful. I am giving you me."