Sometimes when all of life's gifts are being passed out, we spy one that is vibrant, tantalizing, and just perfect for us! We want it. We want that bold, patriotic duck. Suddenly, it gets handed to someone else, and because our heavenly language is limited, we don't understand why. That duck would have been perfect for us! We regarded it with awe and affection! We would have loved and cherished and chewed it. We would have named it "Quackers". Alas. We wander, bereft, confused about this rumored heavenly beneficence. Then, wonder of wonders, a voice calls our name! It hands over a personally inscribed package on which is perched ANOTHER duck! A duck that matches our attire. A duck that speaks to our vivid personality. A duck for us to cradle and slurp and carelessly drop on the ground after the allure dissipates. Our duck. And we respond with joy and wonder and awe and never contemplate: did we really need a duck in the first place? Or does the tall being simply view our smallness, our newness, our simplicity and decide to be lavish once again?
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