Mother's Apples

When I was in early elementary school (circa 1980) I always carried a lunchbox. My first lunchbox was a hand-me-down in the shape of a football. I had used it throughout my preschool and kindergarten years when I would play school behind the gold recliner in the den. My favorite lunchbox was a tin Walt Disney World box with matching thermos that I used during first and second grade. It’s funny how things come back to me.

I was reminded today of the apples Mom used to put in that lunchbox every day. How I dreaded those apples, even though I knew they were good for me. I would eat the chips and the Twinkies with gusto. Next came the sandwich—bologna or PB&J—which I ate out of a sense of duty and survival. But the apple...well, a talking serpent couldn't have made that appealing to me. It stayed in the box to bump around during the bus ride home. Early on I learned that when the apple returned home, Mom would pack it again the next day. This would continue for a whole week until, by Friday the apple was bruised and cut and nicked beyond recognition. Of course, you couldn't trade apples. Every other kid in class had an apple that their mothers had dutifully packed. What to do?

Finally I wised up and figured out that if I threw the apple away at school, Mom would never know. That way I could always hope for something other than an apple the next day. I think Mom knew, though. She had to know. But I don't remember whether she ever said anything about it. How I wish I had those apples back that I threw away or tossed out the bus window! Each one was symbolic of Mom's love and care. Each one was symbolic of blessings discarded. And so I pray, "Father, I don't want to treat the blessings you pack in my life the same way I treated Mom's apples."

After battling breast cancer four years ago, I have come to recognize each new day as a blessing from my heavenly Father. Today is a ripe, red, McIntosh apple, and rather than throw it in the trash can or leave it to be mangled and mushed in some old tin lunchbox, I want to eat every scrap, even the core and the seeds. I want to live life to its fullest and glorify God every moment. My son has a board book titled I'm Thankful Each Day by P.K. Hallinan. It lists all the different things in life to thank God for, like stars and seasons and sunsets and snow. Then the author sums it all up with a sort of doxology:

I guess in the end
The best thing to say
Is I'm thankful for living...
I'm thankful each day.

I'm reminded of the doxology we sang each Sunday in church when I was growing up (it was my cue that church was over for the day):

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him all creatures here below.
Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Won't you join me today in thanking Him?