Everything is a gift.
Some gifts come in wrapping paper and I don’t know what they are until I unwrap them.
Some gifts seem to be wrapped in chain and spikes and razor wire, but that’s just what I’m seeing in the pattern on the paper.
When I can look a little longer, and if I’m open to seeing a truth that differs from my current story, I come to see that every scary thing separating me from every gift is ultimately as thin as paper. And I can unwrap that too.
And when I do, I always find the gift inside.
And when I leave it wrapped, I don’t.
That’s just the way of it.
And both are fine.
Because, wrapped or unwrapped, it’s still a gift.
It’s just a matter of whether or not I can see it.