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.