There is something about boxes and young children that make for humorous curiosity. Most parents have been through the gift giving time when their child was far more interested in the box than what was in it. Boxes are intriguing. They come in so many shapes and sizes. Some carry precious cargo and others carry, well... junk.

Most women respond wonderfully to very small boxes. They usually carry very expensive gifts. Deanna received a small box from BJ a couple of Christmas's ago... she still wears its contents on her finger.

Most guys like large boxes. The idea of getting something huge matches most of our egos. For his 15th birthday, BJ got an enormous box which contained a stereo. However, it was the small package that brought him the most joy. The sword he wanted but did not think he would get, meant a great deal to him.

I seem to be stuck in my very early youth, as I enjoy boxes... sometimes more than what is in them. There are a few exceptions.

I have collected many boxes through the years. Many are antiques, a few are not. My most recent acquisition is made of rosewood. It has curved lines, and a beautiful finish.

I have a dome top trunk which stores knick-knacks and lap quilts. An old blanket chest which contains it's namesake. A tool box off of an ancient tractor which keeps candles. A large tin document box (which belonged to my grandmother) that hides videos. A very large metal box which literally served as a car trunk on an early model automobile. It treasures a bounty of favored quilts. A cedar box which holds a beautiful white KJV Bible given by Deanna's parent's church upon BJ's passing. An old sewing or jewelry box constructed with square nails, that has a tapered spindle on top which is perfect for hosting rings. Stowed in it are old matchbooks.

I kind of like boxes. I have several more than this. I like the way they look, and how functional they are. I like that you can hide things in them.

We are so often like these. We look to have it all together on the outside, but hide away what's inside. It could be ugliness, emptiness, despair or even beauty or things of tremendous worth. But when we are unwilling to share the contents, we turn bitter and distant. Boxes were made to be opened, the contents shared. So were we.

My newest box is made of rosewood. It's my favorite. What it holds is most precious. The engraving on top reads "Our Precious BJ" October 1, 1989 - September 26, 2005.

dad