If he asks for an egg, will you give him a scorpion?

 

          Years ago as I was cleaning out my childhood closet, I spied a small box tucked up in the corner of the highest shelf, dusty and tightly sealed. The box was nothing special, just an old cardboard cube box from a department store left over from Christmas presents one year. The box was plain, solid white and taped tightly shut. With the aid of a stool I climbed my way up to the highest shelf in my cluttered closet and struggled to reach the box. Over time the box had migrated to a place in the corner beyond my fingertip reach. Next to the box, but in my reach, was a stack of old Bibles. Some were from my childhood, others were versions more difficult for me to understand due to an antiquated writing style.