I am one of those blessed women who have more than one best friend. They are as different as different can be, yet they complete me in ways that could only be explained as a gift from the Father.
Two of my most special and favorite people, Chatty and Maribeth, sent me a box.
FIVE MONTHS AGO.
Chatty shopped her heart out and filled this box with love, then she mailed it on a very memorable day, May 18th, Chloe’s birthday. I knew she had mailed it, and my heart was filled with great anticipation because this was the first box of love from her, and I miss her so fiercely that I just needed something to touch that had come from her. I waited…and waited…and waited…
It never came.
I called her to tell her, and while we were both incredibly disappointed, I remember saying to her that I felt like it was going to come on a day that I needed it most. That this lost box wasn’t lost accidentally, but rather waylaid until it would serve His purposes to minister to me when nothing else would work.
Then, after months passed, I started to think that my feeling was wrong, that maybe it was just an unlucky thing. And I cried. Oh how I cried!
On Septemeber 30th, the post office called. They said they had a box for us from America that was badly damaged and we had to come pick it up. They also said to bring a translator. I racked my mind trying to think of who it could be from, and the only possibility was Chatty! My heart leapt with joy and the anticipation started again.
The next day, on my birthday, Cam went to pick up this box. I use the word box lightly because, well, because there was no longer a box. Some things exploded on everything else, and it was a wreck. But you know what? I didn’t care. I didn’t care what was in that box. I felt the love. I saw the evidence of her choices, and without having a return sender name, I knew, without a doubt, this box was from Chatty. It had her essence all over it, and I felt like I had been hugged. I couldn’t help but to flash to the moments of pure joy I had in her presence, the moments of tears, of anguish, of prayer, of side-splitting laughter, of having to run out of the hotel room because we were being too loud for the other occupants, of her dropping a loaded cooler for me to drag because the sand was burning the skin off our feet, of hugging her and saying goodbye, not knowing if I will ever see her again. I remembered the times she was just there, when I needed someone, without me ever asking. She is strong. She is graceful. She is beautiful. She is one of the most grounded and godly women I know. And as all this flooded over my heart and mind, the box meant so much more that mere contents. It meant I am missed and loved and not forgotten.