Mack Trucks and Feathers

The other day I greeted a woman who was over by our wooden boxes. She had a very quiet air about her as she studied them intently. Most of the boxes are small, around the size of a deck of cards or a small book. She, however, was interested in a larger one that was slightly smaller than a shoebox. Also, most of the boxes tend to be brightly colored with some design, such as a moon or fairy. These were of no interest to her. The one she kept coming back to was very plain in comparison. It was very rich in natural color and had a subtle, yet very elegant pattern engraved in the front.

Because of its size and engraving it was one of our most expensive boxes. She would turn it over and over in her hand and I sensed she was debating over the box's cost or value. I was partially correct; what she was debating over was the box's worth.

I mentioned about the quality of the box and showed her some if its finer points, justifying its value. I was not sure if she heard me; she seemed completely absorbed in some inner experience. She obviously was in no hurry to make a decision. It appeared to me that she just wanted to be with the box for a moment, as if waiting for some confirmation. I simply stood there, quietly, not wanting to rush her, giving her the space in case she wanted to open up about what was going on for her.

After a moment she sheepishly said that while it might sound really weird, she was looking for a box to hold her husband's cremated ashes. I assured her that it wasn't weird at all and since she obviously felt comfortable mentioning that to me, I asked her a couple questions about him, about his life. Based on her responses it was clear to me that she loved him deeply.

She mentioned that she did not like any of the urns that were available to her. She wanted something special. She again gingerly touched the pattern engraved in the wood. She looked up at me and longingly said, "He was a carpenter." At that moment I knew that this simple box was the one she had been looking for.

She again turned the box over and looked at the price. I mentioned that I honored her and her connection to her late husband. That while I didn't have many avenues to express that, one thing I could do was give her a special price on the box. She looked up at me, our eyes held each other's for a moment and we both became a little teary-eyed.

She bought the box, thanked me, and left the store. After she was gone I was still moved by the whole experience. Such a simple thing. Such a simple transaction; probably not even noticed by others in the store. But it felt as if there was a significance in that moment that went beyond the reach of the intellect, but not the heart.

There are moments in life that are truly wondrous: weddings, births, graduations, special anniversaries and such. I have always likened these moments to Mack trucks. By that I mean they are big, powerful and you can see them coming from a long way off. But then, there are other moments that are like feathers that fall gently, lovingly, unbidden upon the heart. Moments that have the power to open the soul, if only just for a moment. They are indeed magical.

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