| Somewhere between five and ten years ago my cardiologist recommended, as a simple precaution, that I start carrying nitro in my pocket. He wrote me the prescription, I picked it up at our pharmacy, and then started carrying that little dark brown glass bottle in my pocket. Sometime after that as I was transferring the pills from one location to another, I dropped the tiny glass bottle on a tile floor … and it cracked wide open! That’s the story of my first pillbox and its contents. Fortunately the original prescription included a refill. I called the pharmacy, picked up a second little dark brown glass bottle, and informed my cardiologist that the refill was to replace pills that had been lost, but never used. Shortly after that I found an ugly little plastic tube (it looks like an overgrown Chapstick) into which I inserted the tiny, fragile bottle for its protection (against my clumsiness). Did I mention that this pillbox was ugly? Monica, seeing how I carried this ugly little tube with me wherever I went (that’s the purpose, you see, of having a nitro prescription), gifted me with an attractive miniature silver cylinder into which I placed the tiny nitro pills. From that time on I carried this handsome pillbox with me wherever I went. I did this until one sad day the pillbox disappeared! It is long enough ago now – at least three years – that I don’t even remember the story of its disappearance. So, back to the pharmacy I went and home I came with another little dark brown glass bottle, which was immediately inserted into the ugly plastic tube (which, knowing how I am, I had saved – just in case). Monica, knowing (I assume) what a hopeless case I am, never replaced the sleek and attractive silver pillbox. That I assumed was the end of the pillbox story … however, I am sure you know how dangerous it is to make assumptions. This past weekend the next two generations were at the cottage with another related family. As they did what families with young children do in the lake and on the dock, a foot discovered a small object in the sand under our dock. The foot’s owner reached through the three feet of water on top of the sand and came up with an attractive miniature silver cylinder! It was not until later, in conversation at the cottage, that one of our sons recognized this sleek and attractive item as the pillbox that had been lost for at least three years! The pillbox is now back in my pocket with fresh nitro (it is replaced every year). The ugly plastic tube is tucked away in a “safe place” with a reserve of the tiny pills. And I have attached Monica’s handsome gift to a keyring with other essential keys. And this, I pray, is the end of the pillbox story (at least until it is time to refresh its contents) … though one son has also recommended that when I take it to the dock it comes attached to a large floating bobber! There’s an old spiritual that says, “In his time, in his time, God makes all things beautiful in his time.” Peter addresses the issue this way: “Do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” (2 Peter 3.8-9) Whether it is under the sand or simply under our radar, the promise is clear – God is patiently working his plan of saving grace in our lives and in the lives of many others. We are not guaranteed to see the results in this world, but seeing is NOT believing. “So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage.” (2 Corinthians 5.6-8) It is nice, though, that every once in a while he sends us little reminders (like my pillbox) that he is at work – generally behind the scenes and to our unawares – bringing blessings to us … and through us to many others. Which brings to mind another story. This past Sunday as I greeted people leaving worship, a lady came up to me and said, “Do you remember me” and then graciously reminded me who she was even before I had the opportunity to reply. She then thanked me for an encounter we had had with each other over thirty years ago – an event I never would have remembered without her reminding me. By God’s gracious activity the positive impact we can have on the lives of others, though often buried like a pillbox in the sand, retains its beauty and usefulness long beyond our memory. That’s my pillbox story (and I’m sticking to it!). |
The Story of the Pillbox
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