Can I carry your tool box, Bev?" Four-year-old Stephen looked up at me eagerly as I stepped out of my car. I worked as an illustrator for his mother, Linda, who ran an educational publishing company, and we often met at this roadside restaurant halfway between our homes to exchange materials and ideas.
"Sure, Stephen! Thank you!' I handed him the battered metal tackle box which for decades had held
my art supplies: pens, paint, brushes, ink, everything. He struggled proudly to lug it into the restaurant as Linda and I followed him.
Once inside, we selected a table, and he watched with interest as I "set up shop", laying out pencils, paper, and other items I would use to do sketches for Linda as we discussed our next book. Stephen liked art, too, and was intrigued by the many gadgets in my box. Soon, the waitress brought menus for Linda and me, and crayons and a paper place mat for Stephen to color. This was a familiar, comfortable routine for him, and he worked happily as Linda and I went over the drawings I had done for her. Once, as their family drove past this eatery, he had pointed and said, "Look - there's Bev's office!"
Another day, another rendezvous: Stephen hurried across the parking lot to help me. "Can I carry your tool box, Bev?" But this time, I said "No." Confusion and hurt stripped the anticipation from his face.
"You need to carry YOUR tool box, " I said, handing him the bright yellow plastic box which I had bought and filled with art supplies for him. Surprise and delight outshone the California sunshine on his face. I took my toolbox from the car, and we fellow artists walked side by side into the restaurant.
Again, we chose a table, and Stephen importantly set out his supplies as Linda and I perused our menus. "You ladies talk," he said. "I have work to do."
Bev Armstrong copyright 2011
As I enjoyed giving Stephen his own box of tools, so the Lord delights in giving us spiritual gifts with which we may serve others. What gifts have you been given, and how are you sharing them?
Bev