A Blessing In My Mailbox

The mail box door stood slightly ajar. Yeah, I bet the box is packed full, I thought as I walked across the narrow asphalt street in front of my humble home. My wife was out of town for the week so the daily ritual of emptying the mail box fell on to my shoulders. Only, I never remember to check the box everyday. Usually I think to look inside the black, elongated metal box standing on the opposite side of the street from my driveway a day or two before Heather returns home. By then, our letter carrier has crammed countless white envelopes into the tube until he can’t get the door all the way shut.

I never think to check the mail box because I never get any mail. My wife handles all the finances of the Corn household so all the bills are addressed to her. She also gets catalogs and various magazines. Heather’s family also sends her, Peter, or Ashley parcels from all over the continental states. All my family lives in one town a couple of hours drive from us so they wait until we are visiting if they have something they want to pass into my hands. I think I get one magazine a month. But Heather always puts it on the kitchen table so I will pick it up and take it to work with me since I don’t have time to read at home. No, I don't have a reason to remember to look inside that box mounted on a pole at the end of the drive.

Only when the family is gone on an adventure and the box is bursting at the seams with mail do I ever empty out the mail box. Even though I know nothing in the enormous stack of thin packages has my name above the address of my little piece of American pie, I never can resist the urge to flip through each envelope. If I never check the mail, why would I carefully read the return addresses to see who sent each of these lovely pieces of correspondence? It must be a habit born in the days when my parents asked me to accompany them across the busy road to see if the mail man left something in the big galvanized steel box perched on top a rusty metal post. When you pulled the pile out of the box you always look through it while you waited for traffic to clear so you could cross the road again.

So I flipped through the stack on my way up the driveway knowing nothing was addressed to me. Then I noticed a letter with my name on it. On closer inspection, I realized my name was written in my own hand writing. Seeing my own name written in the hand writing my father used to say only a code breaker could read caused the circuits in my brain to overload with increased computing activity. What in the heck was this? Then my brain finally recalled the memory of sending out a pile of mission trip letters I sent out a couple of weeks ago. In each letter I had out in a self-addressed envelop in case the recipient wanted to send me a little something special for my trip.

Puzzlement and wonder quickly turned to excitement as I slowly realized I had a donation in my hand. Without knowing it, my feet picked up the pace a few notches on the way back to the house. As soon as I walked through the door to the kitchen, I flung the stack of bills and credit card solicitations down on the kitchen table keeping my self-addressed envelope in my hand. I dug my finger up under the flap on the back and tore the paper down the length of the white rectangle. Out slid a smaller envelope with Church of the Messiah printed across the top. It was one of those tithe and offerings envelopes like the ones I used to take from the back of the church pew and draw on during service when I was a kid. I had included these special envelopes with the self- addressed envelope in the mission letter. The church bookkeeper needs the tithe envelope so the church could send the giver a tax credit form at the end of the year. That’s right, give to my cause and I can you get a tax write off. Not a bad deal I’m telling ya.

“All right,” I said to myself knowing I had just received another donation. A couple of folks I have pitched my cause to have already slid me a buck or two. So the slow process of raising two thousand dollars was in full swing. I figured if I asked a lot of people for a little bit of the family finances I could raise the plane ticket in six months. I have a lot of asking to do.

I looked down at the amount line to see how much closer I had just gotten to my goal. When I saw the three figures written in front of the printed dollar sign on the envelop, the lower half of my jaw dropped to the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Just to make sure it wasn’t a mistake, I held the sealed envelope up to the sun light pouring into the kitchen window. Through the thin sides of the tithe envelope I could clearly see the check inside. The three digits on the check matched the ones printed on the outside of the envelope.

I held one quarter of my plane ticket in my hand. Praise Jesus. A huge weight lifted off my shoulders. If I was over one quarter of the way to my goal this early in the game I was going to be home free. I did a little victory dance around the kitchen sing out “thank you Lord, thank you Lord.”

Seriously, I am honored that one of our friends would trust me with such a large donation. This tells me that I’m following the right path because God is blessing me with the tools I need to go on the trip. It also makes me realize that I have a responsibility to honor those who are contributing to my plane ticket fund by producing the best possible documentaries I have the talent to produce. I’m excited about visiting a place I have never been but I know that it will not be a vacation. I will work hard knowing the equipment I’m using was purchased with offerings from supporters of our mission. I will use my time wisely knowing my presence in Africa was paid for by people who believe in me and my calling. Thank you to all of my supporters who have sent me money for my travel expenses. I will do my best to honor the hard earned dollars that you so graciously entrusted to me. May God bless you all.