The wainscoting’s surface was cracked and marbled with age. He had removed it piece by piece from his great grandfather’s farmhouse, salvaging a few feet of his heritage from the then vacant homestead. The boards were now even more significant since the house had eventually been destroyed by fire. Each nail had been cut to avoid splintering the wood upon removal. The layers of ivory paint hovered in sections over the original red stain like ice floating on a river during spring break-up, patches moving in assorted sizes and patterns. These precious boards, he cut to size to form the long sides of the shadow box. He had measured the dimensions secretly, using only his arm, to ensure the box fit into its intended space.
The door, he built from an antique window sash rescued from his family’s historic home during an upgrade. He had resized the deep colored molding. Mitered corners and fine sanding made it fit just right. The old varnish was worn with use and darkened over time. Holes from bygone window latches gave it a rustic charm. A single pane of glass had been neatly set into the grooves to provide a perfect view of the treasure to be placed inside, while protecting it from dust or soiled hands.
The top and rear panel was constructed from lumber resurrected from a little red barn where I kept my horse for years. The paint was flaky and bleached by the sun. A mixture of dried wood and faded paint made a flawless background for the anticipated collectible. Exactly where in the barn it came from, I have no idea.
He couldn’t wait until Christmas. The gift was delivered on a snowy evening three days early. It was for me. Newspaper embraced the box, sheet after sheet. The handcrafted gift stood straight and proud, as the wrapping was torn away. Astonishment and appreciation overwhelmed me. I could feel the love that poured from the box and emanated from his soft, brown eyes. Night after freezing night had been spent creating the gift, he, warmed only by the wood stove in the shop. Beaming, he recounted the history of each component and what it had meant to him. I was receiving not only his love but a gift of his past and his future; where he had been and where he was going.
Along with my horse hair bridle, I keep the cards and sentiments he has written to me in the shadow box. It has become my most precious belonging, made with love, deep understanding and friendship. It is a place to keep each token of affection. Our bond has matured, as we have, over the years. First strangers, then friends, and when the time was right, so much more. We are like the box, a compilation of weathered pieces that have come together to form something that serves a new purpose. The construction has had its challenges but the result is a thing of beauty. If I ever doubt our relationship, or if we are separated by time or space, I touch the box and I know. This is for forever.
Gifts from the heart, last the test of time. It is not the most expensive or the most lavish presents that linger in our memory. Often it is a simple act of kindness or support when we are down, a thoughtful gesture, remembering an anniversary or birthday, a car repair or a dish to eat and conversation. Allowing our fellow man to feel acknowledged and valued is what we can offer every day, an ear to listen, a smile to say, “I see you.” Let us offer forgiveness to those who may have wronged us as they followed their path; let us forgive ourselves for seeing them this way. Remember each time someone has gifted you, no matter how small and take that forward into the world. Let’s take the holiday spirit into our being, magnify it, and pass it to all we meet.
Many blessings for a season of love, light and laughter.
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