It always amazes me how much thought and feeling go into packing a tiny shoebox.
A shoebox intended for a child somewhere on this great big planet. A shoebox full of hope and happiness. A shoebox full of prayers.
Prayers of thanksgiving. Prayers of hope. Prayers of love. Prayers of salvation.
Packing a shoebox has always been my way of kicking off the holiday season, so to speak. But this year it felt different. More special. More meaningful.
I pictured the children's faces who would receive the boxes. I pictures their living environments. I pictured their families.
And you know what I saw?
My children's faces.
And I was humbled and eternally grateful for how fortunate we are. Spoiled, really. Really spoiled.
I went so far as to tell my husband that I thought our children should receive their Christmas gifts in one shoebox this year. Crazy, right?
Or is it?
I want our children to grasp everything that a shoebox represents. I want them to give generously and lovingly. I want them to think of those children who are less fortunate more than they think of what they want next.
And more than any of that, I want the children who open the boxes we packed to feel the love of Jesus. I want our prayers to spill out of those boxes and fall into the hearts of those precious children. I want them to believe that a family all the way in South Carolina holds their tender hearts close and prays without ceasing for them.
May we meet in eternity, precious ones. Until then.