The Box -A Christmas Story-

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She slammed the book down on the table
                                                And let out a long huff.

Her patience couldn’t take much more,
                                                This night has been so rough.

Maybe if she stayed real still,
                                                And didn’t make a noise;

Then that crowd would go away
                                                With all those girls and boys.

But their incessant singing continued on,
                                                Along with their off-key tune.

All she could do was wait it out,
                                                And hope it would end soon.

Silent Night and Jingle Bells
                                                Seeped through every wall.

That joyous music filled the air,
                                                Filling every room and hall.

She closed her eyes and gave a sigh,
                                                It had gone on for quite a while.

So she went to open up the door,
                                                Pasting on her “Christian” smile.

She nodded at each caroler,
                                                Keeping every thought inside.

She longed to scream “Just Go Away!”
                                                But she still had her pride.

Finally they went to leave
                                                And she mumbled a reply.

But as she turned to go back in,
                                                Something caught her eye.

A single light across the street
                                                Glowed faintly in the night.

Illuminating a simple scene,
                                                Where all was ‘calm and bright.’

The woman sneered at the little thing,
                                                Parked on the church’s lawn.

She couldn’t wait ‘till this was over
                                                And that stupid thing got gone.

She eyed that cutout up and down-
                                                Made from inexpensive wood.

A man, a woman, and a baby;
                                                Not even very good!

She pulled her sweater tighter ‘round
                                                To fend off the bitter chill.

How could such a bustling town,
                                                Become suddenly so still?

She allowed a backward glance,
                                                Contempt written on her face.

And to think that she had once been
                                                A huge part of that place?!

As she went to go back in the house,
                                                Where her cup of tea grew cold.

She noticed something in the snow,
                                                An unusual type fold.

She went to shrug it off,
                                                It held no real value.

But just like the cold gets in your bones,
                                                Curiosity will too.

So she made her way down off her porch
                                                And stepped up to the lane.

She checked to make sure the coast was clear,
                                                Looking left and right again.

Then trudging up the church’s lawn,
                                                Wading through the snow.

She stood next to the manger scene,
                                                Eyes blinded from the glow. 

There sat a little cardboard box-
                                                Just lying on the ground.

It was perched right by the manger,
                                                As if waiting to be found.

It had a little ribbon tied,
                                                Made from a piece of string.

And on the top a tag was written-
                                                “To Jesus, Baby King.”

She yearned to walk away.
                                                She liked no parts of this

But something told her that this was
                                                A moment not to miss.

So with hands ever careful,
                                                She removed the handmade bow.

And gently lifted each soggy flap
                                                To learn what was to know.

On top was laid a written note,
                                                Done from a child’s hand.

She unfolded the paper.
                                                She just had to understand.

“Baby Jesus, You came as a king,
                                                But I’m just a little girl.

I’m not tall, and I’m not pretty,
                                                And I only have one curl.

But Jesus, I have a heart;
                                                And I hear you like that, too.

So in this box are the things I love.
                                                I give them all to You.

I’ve packed some hopes. I’ve packed some dreams.
                                                So now I guess I’ll say.

That I’m giving you my everything
                                                As a gift on Your birthday!” 

The woman now, with knees gone weak,
                                                Knelt in that drifted bank.

Her mind spun with what could be,
                                                But it only came up blank.

She laid the little note aside,
                                                Eyes filling up with tears.

As innocent as this child was,
                                                She was mature beyond her years.

She found a pair of ballet slippers,
                                                With a hole worn in the toe.

The little girl must’ve practiced hard,
                                                For such a mark to show.

The woman touched the scuffed fabric,
                                                Holding back the coming stream;

For long ago, she too had fought
                                                For a similar type dream.

But she pushed that thought aside,
                                                Her resentment coming new.

She couldn’t forget what had happened,
                                                Or Who allowed it to.

With a fresh frown on her face,
                                                She continued through that box.

She couldn’t have been more surprised
                                                When she pulled out that pair of socks!

Just a simple blue-grey yarn,
                                                In an old-fashioned circle knit.

But what surprised her most of all
                                                Was the note attached to it.

The yellowed piece of paper read-
                                                “From Grandma, with love.”

It was placed inside the sock
                                                Like a hand inside a glove. 

Moisture threatened in the woman’s eyes.
                                                This girl had been loved well.

Then why go to all this trouble?
                                                She really couldn’t tell.

Why ever would a little girl
                                                Give all her things away?

And leave them in the snow bank,
                                                For a baby on some hay?

The woman, she had been there,
                                                She had filled that empty pew.

But giving her all to a far off god
                                                Was not something she would do.

No. She preferred the hatred
                                                To the love that could be there.

She like to have someone to blame
                                                For every woe and care.

The cold wind brought her mind right back
                                                To the monumental task.

Of trying to question a little girl
                                                Without a time to ask.

Her eyes went to the box again
                                                And her hand went to her chest.

A tiny, well-loved, dolly
                                                Was laid gently with the rest.

With a handmade dress and button eyes,
                                                This treasure wasn’t new.

It seams could talk, they’d have some tales
                                                Of all she had been through.

A little girl, gave up her doll?
                                                Her most precious earthly prize!

The woman couldn’t hold them back
                                                And hot tears came to her eyes. 

What was it about this manger
                                                That made people act so strange?

Why was it that this time of year
                                                Made people want to change?

This season was no spotless lamb.
                                                It had its soiled roots.

And this change could not have come from
                                                A fat man in red suits.

The woman sat there smiling;
                                                She had answered her own plight.

This had to be some crazy hoax
                                                To bring on a “Silent Night.”

But as she sat there, wet with snow,
                                                And that box perched on her knee.

She knew, deep down, there was something more.
                                                There almost had to be.

But she’d been to church, sang the songs.
                                                It wasn’t all that great.

It wasn’t magic; and besides,
                                                She’d already picked her fate.

She’d picked her fate that day
                                                When at God she shook her fist.

When the hurt and pain had been so bad
                                                She just could not resist.

When God, with judgments so unfair,
                                                Asked her to give her all

She looked right up and told Him-
                                                “My life is not Your call!”

And that girl, still so young,
                                                Might not get this yet;

But someday soon she would feel
                                                Just how bad the pain could get. 

And that little girl, when the time did come,
                                                Would know that she could not.

Call out to the very God,
                                                Who of her whole pain forgot.

She sat there feeling justified,
                                                Although her life a total wreck.

The wind whipped hard again,
                                                And a chill ran up her neck.

She went to put that box away.
                                                She was quite done for the night.

When she saw that there was one more piece
                                                Reflecting off the light.

It was a simple photograph-
                                                A proud fam’ly of three.

Attached was a piece of paper
                                                That read “Obituary.”

The paper and the picture
                                                Coincided all too much.

The woman couldn’t help it,
                                                She reached out her hand to touch.

And when she did she saw the words
                                                Handwritten on the page.

They seemed to match the little note,
                                                Mature beyond its age.

Just a single line of words-
                                                It couldn’t be that bad;

But the sloppy, homemade letters read-
                                                “Take care of mom and dad.”

This time tears poured freely.
                                                The woman felt like she’d been hit.

Her mind reeled and spun
                                                With the pure weight of all of it. 

This little girl had lost so much
                                                And gave up even more.

The woman couldn’t fathom
                                                The “why?” or “what for?”

A truck came down the roadway
                                                And its headlights cast a glow.

She found herself sitting
                                                In an oddly shaped shadow.

When she looked above the manger scene,
                                                Her mind was at a loss.

Right behind where the baby lay,
                                                There stood a wooden cross.

The woman couldn’t help but see
                                                That baby hanging there.

Her mouth hung wide and open,
                                                But she really didn’t care.

For the first time in her entire life
                                                The truth filled her eyes-

That God incarnate came to earth,
                                                Leaving paradise.

Yes, He came fulfilling prophecy.
                                                Yes, He came without a bed.

But It wasn’t about the night He came,
                                                But the day He died instead.

He didn’t come with sword drawn
                                                Ready to slay every vice.

He came instead to take your place-
                                                A perfect sacrifice.

The woman sat there, in the snow,
                                                Her heart now torn in two.

Tears were falling and she couldn’t
                                                Quite figure what to do. 

A cardboard box and a little girl-
                                                One she’d never even met!

Had rocked her world with such a force-
                                                That it hadn’t settled yet.

And now she sat, soaked to the bone,
                                                Half frozen in place.

At the crossroads of her old life,
                                                And a new, amazing grace.

She took her stand from the frozen ground,
                                                That drifted bank of snow.

That choice she had, which did she make?
                                                Well, I guess we’ll never know.