Monday, September 21, 2015


     The line in the Post Office was especially slow Friday, and I am grateful, for I was blessed to overhear a conversation taking place behind me between a father and his son. The son was a young teenager and would be considered 'special' by some, which to me means 'better' than most. Without ceasing, the son asked a stream of questions that would have challenged Job. The dad calmly answered every question with the tone of a man who loves his son. Here is a piece of the conversation:

     "Dad, why does it say fragile on the package?"
     "Because it's breakable."
     "Is glass fragile?"
     "Are sticks fragile?"
     "Is clay?"
     "Are eggs fragile?"
     "Can I throw eggs in here?"
     "That would be a definite no."
     "Is it because they're fragile?" 
     "No, it's just wrong."
     "Can I bring toys in here?"
     "Can I give them to people?"
     "If they want them."
     "Am I talking too loud?"

     I didn't want to leave the Post Office... the father/son relationship I was privy to in that moment was a picture of my relationship with God– me, the incessant asker, and God, the patient giver. It is a relationship that seems fragile and, from a human perspective, exhausting. Thankfully the nature of God is the definition of good. He holds me with an unbreakable grip, forever listening to my questions.

     And yes, in spite of long, slow lines, it is just wrong to throw eggs in the Post Office.

No comments:

Post a Comment