It is presumptuous to think any of my words are profound, but today’s post seems exceedingly simple.
It’s about an old, white, wooden box.
The box sat behind the altar at my childhood church. It was a drop spot for missions money; tape on the top with hand-written words designated three ministries.
To me, the box was a birthday tradition.
Services at Bayview Baptist Church began on Sunday morning with a brief devotion and song prior to the start of Sunday School. Before we dismissed, anyone with a birthday was invited to stand by the box at the altar for the congregation to sing “Happy Birthday.”
An offering for the birthday box was encouraged. Some years I slipped a quarter through the slot, others I dropped a dollar bill. In hindsight it doesn’t seem like much. But God doesn’t need much, does He?
Fish and bread.
A widow’s mite.
The faith of a mustard seed.
I visited the church, alone, in March as COVID dictated social distancing. As I walked through, I noticed the box was absent from the altar. I found it stacked on a bookshelf in a room now used for storage. I brought it home with me, anticipating that I would write about it one day.
Sunday was my birthday, and it seemed an appropriate time to tell the story. The box has given me a tangible memory to hold onto, a reminder of my belonging at Bayview Baptist Church. Not just in the building, but with its people.
I celebrated my birthday in pajamas, eating pizza and reading a plethora of meaningful birthday messages. The birthday box was close by.
It is a cue to celebrate the gift of my life, but more importantly to consider the gift my life should be to others.
“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”
(Ephesians 2:10)
