I have been to the post office a few times in the past 2 weeks. The second time I was in line with a few things to mail. Some of them needed to be weight and mailed off with the proper postage. Of course the clerk asks the usual "anything fragile, hazzardous, liquid or perishable?" I don't think I said anything and the clerk stamped on the front of a certain envelop "fragile," as if she could see on my face that part of my heart was in the 6x9 envelop.
I walked out in a sort of dream like state. Am I that transparent? Then I remembered a little section from the latest George MacDonald novel that I just finished reading:
"It is the desire to call things ours - the desire of company which is not of our kind. We call the holding in the hand, or house, or pocket, or purse, or the power, having. But things so held cannot really be had. Having is but an illusion with regard to things. It is only what we can be with that we really possess. A love can never be lost; it is a true possession. But who can take his diamond ring, or his piece of land, in to the life beyond? These are not possessions. Thus, only love, and only God can be ours perfectly. Nothing called property can be ours at all."
Although, the card and the words that were written are an expression of my love they were not fragile in the world's definition however in the spiritual world the contents were indeed precious and would be handled with much care.