The Treasure Chest?

"For where your treasure is, there will your 
heart be also." Matthew 6:21

Early one crisp December morning I found myself listening to a Sunday sermon on the theme of jewels - their beauty, their rarity, and the incredible pressure it takes to form them. Pastor Joan Carter placed a small treasure chest on the altar and asked us to reflect on treasures from our past - specifically, those treasures gleaned from pressure, the "trials by fire" in our lives. Joan then lifted an gray, tattered, sorrowful looking stuffed toy from the treasure chest - it was Casper the Friendly Ghost.

Joan is a compelling speaker, always delivering her message in strong, clear, often buoyant tones. Yet on this day, she struggled with personal emotion, as she related her story. "I was 25, and already had three children" she began, "when we noticed that our middle child was not behaving as he should. He would run into walls. His vision was not as it should be. A visit to an ophthalmologist reassured me James was just seeking attention. A visit to another doctor revealed the worst; my child had a tumor in the center of his brain, which was inoperable. This was late October, and we were told he wouldn't live until Christmas." I sat dumbfounded listening to her speak. As well as I thought I knew Joan, I had never heard this story.

"Well, the big toy that year was Casper the Friendly Ghost," she continued, holding up the doll, "and it was the only toy my son wanted for Christmas. I decided not to wait. I went out and bought Casper?and waited?and prayed for a miracle?and waited?and prayed. As you know, our prayers were answered. You can see from looking at him that Casper was dragged around for many years. That was 38 years ago. I still have Casper. He's in a drawer by my bedside. One quick look and I'm reminded to live every moment, to savor every hour of every day. I learned an important lesson which this doll represents to me", she said as she laid it back in the treasure chest. 

Later, driving home from church, a tiny voice in my head kept nudging "Why don't you drop by Butterfield's? Just check, maybe they're having a preview." Butterfield & Butterfield is our local auction house, a magical repository filled with furniture, books, and always a few surprises. For some reason, although I hadn't been there in months, I drove to the auction house. A preview was in progress for an upcoming sale of toys and trains. It was the most complete collection of antique toys I'd ever seen, from ferris wheels to fire engines, military regiments to rocking horses. Soldiers rode on camels, elephants, and on horseback. There were phalanx of foot soldiers, Greek cavalries, anti-aircraft squadrons, and marching bands. An astounding collection of trains, tracks and tunnels of every make and model filled the gallery. 

Collectors swarmed like ants to honey, jockeying for prime viewing positions. Many items were in mint condition. I marveled at soldiers still snug in their boxes, cotton string anchoring their arms and legs, paint shiny as they day they were made. Train engines gleamed, never having been thrown from the tracks.

As I scanned the room, my gaze kept returning to a 1908 Pioneer chain-drive pedal car, the paint long since worn from the seat by some pint size drag demon. It had the most wonderfully worn patina and character. You could almost hear play and laughter rising from its dull finish. I glanced beyond to a yellow tin ferris wheel. In one bucket sat a small china doll, so comfortable in her perch, you couldn't imagine her living elsewhere. Several of the teddy bears looked like Casper the Friendly Ghost - gray, worn?and very loved.

When I checked the estimated auction prices, reality hit me like a cold wind. Items considered the "most" valuable had never been out of the box. Toys dented, scraped, or bearing a well chewed ear, were worth less. Yes, like the eager buyers placing their bids, I enjoyed viewing the pristine original boxes and colorful graphics. Yet, it was the teensy striped scarves someone had added to the 3" soldiers of the 12th regiment, the tea set personalized with crudely painted names on each teacup, the china doll in the ferris wheel that whispered these toys had been loved. 

Suddenly, I felt sorry for sleek trains that had never swooshed through a papier mach? mountain tunnel or screeched around a hairpin turn. Like the frozen smile on a beauty queen, they had no character. They may have been carefully stored by someone, but they were never really owned. Once that teddy absorbs a spot of calamine lotion from a child with the measles or sports a chewed ear from a sprite cutting his teeth, he belongs to someone.

What about you?
? Did you have a favorite toy in childhood? 
? Why was it important to you? 
? Do you still have it? 
? Do you remember who gave it to you?

Leaving A Legacy
Have you passed on a favorite toy to anyone else? Have you told them why it was your favorite? Despite overflowing toy chests, do you know which toy a child loves most? Have you started anyone on a collection? I don't mean the madness of beanie baby fever, where parents become slaves to whims, or worse yet, investment value. When a child truly cherishes a collection, you'll know the difference. 

Put Yourself in the Gift
I know a wealthy attorney who shuttles between San Francisco, Houston and Las Vegas. He has (he says) no time to decorate for the holidays, so every year he hires someone to decorate his apartment. Underneath the tree there's always a collection of stuffed animals which he later gives to charity, which of course is a wonderful gesture. I asked him "Have you ever met the children who receive these toys? What if you went to the location where they distribute the toys and told the children "My name is Tom* and I picked these toys out just for you. My favorite toy as a child was _________. It brought me hours of fun, and I hope the toy you receive today will become as special for you." Let them know there is a person behind the gift, a heart thinking just of them. Remember when Daddy Warbucks gave Little Orphan Annie a roomful of gifts? After opening one or two, she didn't even bother to open the rest. What she longed for was the love behind the gift.

It Only Takes a Moment
Last Christmas a local restaurant had large toy barrel with a sign "U. S. Marine Corps Reserves Toys for Tots Collection Box. Distributed to agencies working with the Salvation Army." Peering into the barrel, I spied a plush, nearly new Octopus. He looked kind of lonely down there all by himself.

"What if" I thought to myself, "What if, instead of just placing the toy in the barrel, the donor had attached a ribbon around its neck with a handwritten note: "Merry Christmas. This is Charlie. He lived with us for a whole year and received dozens of kisses and millions of hugs. In fact, he's so full of hugs, he can hold anymore, so it's time for him to start giving them away. If you ever need a kiss or hug, ask Charlie. We loved him so much, we think he he's holding at least five full years worth of hugs and kisses. He needs a good home. I hope you love him as much as we did." 

Do you honestly think the recipient would care if the octopus was "used" or had a tiny spot on it? Perhaps, like Casper the Friendly Ghost, it might too one day reside in someone's treasure chest.

*Names have been changed.

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About Ann Mahony
Speaker and author Ann Mahony addresses audiences nationwide on how to Lead From Your Strengths and Stay Connected in today's downsized, fast forward world.  Featured on ABC, NBC, CBS and CNN, she is the author of Handwriting & Personality...

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