My father and I did not have a close relationship when I was growing up. That
doesn't necessarily mean we didn't love one another, because we did. However, we
were both so busy going our own way that we never had time for each other. I am
by no means blaming my father. We were both at fault. Our relationship was not a
bad one; it was just an agreeable means for us to live together.
One thing that drew us closer was God. I gave my heart to God at a very early
age and started attending church every time the doors were open. We lived within
walking distance of a small country church, and eventually my father and mother
finally came and gave their lives to God as well.
A few years ago while driving back home from visiting my parents, my wife and I
discussed how close my father and I have grown in the past couple of years. I
mentioned how precious to me are the moments spent with him now. During that
drive, I shared a story about a box my father built for me to store my
collectable knives. I revealed my sorrow at its loss and that I would love to
have it in my possession today.
As a child I did not take good care of the box or other toys and possessions. I
never dreamed they would come to mean so much to me later in life. It was a
simple crude box about the size of a shoe box with a lid that was held by two
brass hinges. It had a padlock hinge and lock to make sure no one could get into
it except me. On the very top of the lid my father painted, MIKE'S KNIVES in a
fancy black font. I told my wife all the secret things I kept in the box and how
I wished I had had the sense as a child to keep up with it for the future.
Well, the next several months we planned on visiting our parents during the
Holidays. We were all busy looking for that perfect gift. My mother asked me
many times on the telephone what I would like for Christmas. I would always give
her the same reply, "Nothing." When the Holidays finally came, we first visited
the home of my parents to eat, open presents, and of course spend quality time,
a precious commodity these days. After the meal, the presents were opened. We
all sat on the carpeted floor with wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows torn and
strewn across the living room. Then, after all were opened, my mother (the
official gift-passer-outer) handed me a large green gift bag with fancy paper
stuffed in the top to conceal what was inside. Everyone was looking at me with
anticipation and I knew this was no typical Christmas gift.
I carefully removed the paper and in the bottom of the bag I saw a crude wooden
shape about the size of a shoe box. Even though the top of the box did not have
MIKE'S KNIVES painted on it, I knew immediately what it was and could not
contain my emotions. I burst into tears as I tried to lift the box out of the
bag. Finally getting it out, I noticed it was made of new wood with shiny brass
hinges, and it was locked with a small padlock just like the original. My father
handed me a key to open the lock and as I did, lifting the lid revealing the
words, MIKE'S KNIVES on the underside of the lid. I did not see the contents of
the box at this point because I was so emotionally overwhelmed. I set the box
down on the floor and embraced my father who was in tears as well. We held each
other as the tears flowed. We couldn't talk for the longest time, but we each
knew what this meant to the other. I think it was as much a present to him as it
was to me. My wife and mother, not to be left out, were in tears and embracing
one another as well. Eventually, we all had time to hug and cry with each other.
My wife, Jewel, finally revealed how one day she and my mother were talking on
the telephone about what to get me for Christmas. My wife recalled the story of
the knife box, and shared it with my parents. After discussing it a while, my
father decided to build another knife box for me for Christmas.
When I was finally able to look inside the box, I found some very old collector
knives which belonged to my late grandfather, and some from others in the family
as well. With further inspection of the box, I found that my father had covered
the inside with a red velvet lining, and had stained the wood on the outside to
give it a nice khaki tan. I later found out that my father had constructed the
box while he was very sick and should not have been doing the things he was
doing in order to get it done. It was without a doubt, the very best Christmas
present I ever received.
As I look at my knife box today, I'm reminded of the love of a father who would
do everything in his power to see the relationship with his son grow and become
the best that it could possibly be. I'm reminded of the valuable time that was
invested into rebuilding a gift that held such significance to me, that he cared
enough to make it as special for me as he could. I'm reminded of my Heavenly
Father, who in the same manner cared enough to give me His very best as well.
How He, like my earthly father, will do anything in His power to see the
relationship with His children grow or the valuable time that He has invested in
providing a gift that holds such a significance to mankind. He cared enough for
me and you that He would give His only begotten Son so we can call Him "Father."
Matthew 7:11 says, If ye being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your
children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to
them that ask Him?
Today's Daily Wisdom was written by Michael Collins
sgospelradio@yahoo.com. Michael
manages WOKE in South Shore, Kentucky, and WOKT in Ashland, Kentucky, where he
lives with his wife, Jewel and dog Jake.
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