My Treasured Matchbox Car

A few weeks ago one of our elderly ladies approached me and handed me a yellow Hot Wheels car with flames painted down the side. With tears in her eyes she said she wanted to give me a gift. I gave a cynical, but kind look and thanked her. Later I relayed the instance to my wife and told her I was worried that this elderly lady possibly was losing her faculties in her older age.

I put the matchbox car in my desk drawer and forgot about it until two weeks later. The lady approached me at church so I knelt down next to her. With tears in her eyes once again she spoke to me and said, “I hope you didn’t think my gift was stupid. I thought for sure the day I gave you that car was going to be my last day on earth. I didn’t have any money to get you a gift, nor did I have anything acceptable to give you, but I wanted you to have something to remember how much I love you and your wife.”

I started crying now. This matchbox car was now more than just a car. This diecast, flamed beauty represented an expression of genuine love that was not to be forgotten. It certainly was a sacrifice of pride to endow me with this wonderful treasure. I had misjudged this gift like the Pharisees and rich men judged the widow bringing her mite. Her gift was certainly more valuable than most gifts I had received in my life and I missed it.

Now, you couldn’t get me to part with my Hot Wheels ride. It is on my list of valuable possessions. It’s on my short list to take if there were ever a fire. It’s a constant reminder of an elder’s love for me. It’s a two-by-four to the head that tells me to stop taking everything at face value and appreciate simple expressions of love.