Two Things

There are some things I will never become accustomed to, no matter how often I experience them. Like receiving a gift just because, or becoming violently ill. Both of these happened since my last post, by the way. Just thought I’d clarify.

The gifts came first.

One of the girls on my floor is pretty sensitive to people with dietary needs.  Her fiancé has a fairly limited diet, so that paired with her own struggles leaves her with a tender heart.  We shared concerns and tricks of the special food trade late into the night recently.  A few days after our talk, I came back to my room to find two cartons of berries on my desk. No note, no explanation, until another girl told me who had left them. It made my day.

The week turned into the weekend.  Saturday morning, Bekah, my roommate, asks, “Have you checked your mailbox recently?”

“No. Should I?”

“You should probably do that.”

Now, I don’t know if you have ever heard of the Giving Keys, but they’re a charitable organization that seeks to provide work for homeless men. A few people at school have the key necklaces they make.  Each key is unique, engraved with a word that is significant to you.  The cool part? When you meet someone who needs your word more than you do, you give it to them.

I wanted one. A lot. Specifically, a gold one with the word “abide” engraved in it.  Because abiding is so much more than just staying or living.  It’s actively choosing to stand in something, to continuously dwell. For me, it carries the weight of daily deciding to rest in God’s love, contentedly defined by Him. Anyway, the keys aren’t cheap and like the penny pincher I am, I didn’t buy one.

But Bekah did.  And it was waiting in my mailbox.  I’ll let you imagine my water works.

All of this gave way to violent illness this morning. I mean, violent. It was reminiscent of food poisoning in the Philippines—you know, that time I ate faux-hamburger and nearly died, then ate it again just to make sure and experienced the whole thing for a second time.  Well either Denny’s did me a dirty or I had a killer stomach virus.

Even in this sickness, though, I’m content. A couple of my friends have taken turns stopping in. Gracie and I got to talk on the phone. I slept more today than I’ve slept in weeks. And I’m okay with it.

Basket Case

I remember being so excited as a little girl to see what Dad would bring home from his solo travels.  The morning after he came home, there would always be a little treat for each of us kids on the kitchen counter.  It might be a toy or jewelry or a book, but there would always be a little something.  He always picked the best gifts for each of us. I can't remember ever feeling jealous of someone else's gift because mine was always exactly perfect for me.  Dad just has this phenomenal gift-giving ability.

There was always something for us kids, and I'm certain there was always something for Mom.  If he ever brought something home for himself, it was usually one of two things: a handmade, basket or a small ceramic tile.  With this knowledge I've never had to wonder what to bring home for Dad, now that I go on my own adventures.  I might bring him some coffee, maybe some dried fruit, maybe a whole caboodle of things! But I've always known that baskets and tiles are really where it's at.

Four months ago I started on my quest to bring my dad a basket from the village I'm currently living in.  Are there any floating around to buy? No. Does anyone regularly make them? Nope. Apparently, basket-making is one of the dying traditional arts.  There is only one old guy in the entire village that even knows how to make them anymore.  I asked him if he would make a basket or two, and I got the very succinct answer, "No."

Then, last weekend, there was a lot of birthday talk.  'Tis the season of sticky rice and banana ice cream for the kids in our social circle, which is totally fun!  However, all the talk reminded me that I'm going to get home just in time for Dad to turn the big five-oh. And I didn't have a gift.  I mentioned this during the discussion and explained the basket situation.  I figured I'd just have to buy a basket from town and that would have to make do.

The next day, the old guy's wife showed up at the door.  With three beautiful handmade baskets in tow. She named her price and left basketless.  

It's such a small thing.  I know they're just baskets when all is said and done, but God knew I wanted to be able to give my dad a gift like he has always given me.  Once again I'm reminded that the small things make up the big things and my heart is full to the brim.