Our firstborn had an idea. A month ago he found and printed terrific photos of Ben with his siblings. Lukas took care to choose ones that highlight each relationship, portraying the most joyful faces. Then he mailed these to Benjamin, with instructions to all of us not to open the packages. I cringe to admit that we might break the law by opening his mail but there it is. Frames arrived too, enough to fit each of the enlargements. Ben and his companion Jamie skirted away with the ingredients for nice gifts to everyone on his list. Together they assembled them, wrapping each one with cheerful ribbons, and hand written tags. Then the two of them headed out to the post office to mail the ones for people he would not see in person, setting others under our tree for Christmas morning. 

 

It is a tradition in our house to ask Ben about his surprises. 

 

"Benjamin, what's inside?"

 

"It's a secret," he grins.

 

When the day finally arrived we connected online with his brothers and sisters in other states, so that Ben could watch while they opened them. Including Lukas. Who sent them in the first place.

 

Benjamin collected thanks, and if anyone asks, he will now reveal the identity of what he gave. Ben got the chance to feel generous. But the reality is that the pieces kind of fell into his lap. All he did was show up and smile. 

 

This feels eerily similar to much of what I do. The stories I spin are handed to me by trusting friends, paired with remarkable images crafted by artists. While the appearance is that I lead small groups, the substance of those interactions was gifted to me over many years by mentors, authors, and conference presenters. 

 

All I do is show up and smile. But I am mindful of where they came from in the first place.