One summer I was scrolling through Facebook between spoonfuls of Lucky Charms. I was uncharacteristically addicted to Facebook that day. In between the countless gifs, political rants, and fruitless arguments I saw a post from my cousin Deb that caught my eye. Deb lives in Washington along with a large chunk of my father’s family, and she was having a hard day. She made a comment about wishing she could have one of her uncle’s watermelons for breakfast and that was all it took.
My dad has grown watermelons for decades just like his dad did many decades before. It’s a family legacy. I happened to have some of Dad’s watermelons in the back of my car because my kids love them, and I like to give them to my friends during the summer.
With my cousin Deb’s comment fresh on my mind I opened Google on my phone and typed “how to mail a watermelon”. And for the first time in the history of ever Google failed me. There was nothing definitive. Seemingly no one had attempted this and thought it was important enough to document for all the other interstate watermelon dealers. Game on.
I could accept the idea that no one had ever really mailed a watermelon. I could give up. I could wish the situation were different. I could drive a watermelon all the way to Washington. Or I could find a third way forward.
I don’t have a complicated answer for why I was even thinking this way. I have a simple one. I love my cousin Deb and it seemed like a family watermelon, not just the “normal” grocery store variety, would do the trick. So, I looked at my wife and said, “I’m going to send Deb a watermelon.” Jamie looked at me a lot like you are right now.
I put my brain to work. I had a project, a goal, and I was committed to it. My cousin wanted a family watermelon, and I had one. How could I get it from me to her?
I found a box just barely big enough for the chosen fruit; I wrapped it in plastic wrap (the kind you use to wrap up a sandwich or something); and I filled the empty space with spray in foam like you would use to repair a leaky window seal. I wrapped the whole box up tight with super-duper packing tape and wrote “FRAGILE: PRICELESS FAMILY HEIRLOOM” on the side.
I wish you could have seen the look on the face of the sweet girl working behind the counter when I walked into the local UPS store and declared, “Hi, I need to mail a watermelon to Washington as fast as possible.” That declaration alone almost sent my whole plan off the rails.
I’m not sure why, but I had to reassure her it really was a watermelon in the box. Finally, she just chuckled and helped sort out the details. Surely, she has helped people mail stranger things. Well, maybe not, but we figured it out together.
Do you know the next day air rate for love? No, me neither. I had always wondered what it would cost to mail someone a box of love. Turns out it was a little more than a hundred bucks. That might have stung a little bit if the money was important, but it wasn’t. Loving my cousin was.
Deb got her watermelon the next day and was ecstatic. She sent me a ton of pictures of her, her husband Greg, my Uncle Loyd, and Aunt Beverly all working to open the little puzzle I sent them. With care and enthusiasm, they slowly cut away at the packaging. After all, there was a priceless fragile family heirloom inside.
I was excited for them to get it and I couldn’t wait to see what happened. I think I spent more time refreshing the tracking data for the package than I normally would for an item I am waiting to receive.
Gifts are funny like that. Doing things that are special for someone just because you love them and want to brighten their life a little can be a lot of fun. Doing it for no other reason than you want to, and you can, is enough. In moments like that love is the only motivator. Turns out it is more than enough.
This story was a great moment for me. Not because it’s the first time I’ve ever loved anyone—but because it’s the first time I’ve ever loved anyone like that. I found a new way to do something I’m not sure had ever been done before. I learned a little more about God’s love for me, by loving someone else a little more.
Watermelons might fit in a box if you find the right box. But your life doesn’t have to. Don’t accept the box others will try to put you in. Don’t believe it. The box is almost certainly a lie. Get the beautiful stuff you’re made of to the people in this world who need it most.
You’ll know who they are if you look hard enough and listen well. They are close. They are family and neighbors. You see them at the market, on the corner, across the street, and across the hall. They are literally everywhere.
And when you hear them say, “I could really use _______” be the one who finds a way to make it happen. That is how you mail a watermelon. That is how you send your love. That is how you share what you’re made of with the world.
Don’t wait for someone to tell you how. Don’t ask for permission. Just go for it. Yeah, it will cost you something. Sometimes it will cost a lot. But the high price for sending love is not that high in the grand scheme of things. It may only be about a hundred bucks.
We all have watermelons to send. We all have cousins who need them. We all have a choice to live with the options presented or throw off “normal” and forge our own.
I don’t think the way we love God is defined by a checklist of well-intentioned rules. It’s not a standard of religious practices. It is the everyday activity that showers those around us in the joy residing deep within. We can’t keep it. We can’t contain it. Not when you possess something like that. No, we must do something with it. We must share it. Please, you can’t afford not to. We need you. Don’t worry about getting it perfect, just get it started. Along the way you’ll learn a lot about living a life of love.