The little box

The little box was wrapped in faded brown paper. There was no ribbon. There was no bow. A small folded piece of paper served as the only identification for the gift. The handwriting was shaky, the message short.
For the one who gave.
The little present was forgotten as others appeared. Sparkling packages, trimmed with finery.  They were large and exciting, overshadowing the unadorned present.
Days passed, the children growing more restless as the pile of gifts continued to grow. They knew that this Christmas would be wonderful.
Finally, the anxiously awaited day arrived. Cries of excitement rang through the house as the children opened their gifts to find toys and candy, books and socks. Many of the things they had longed for were there.
But then they found the little gift wrapped in brown.
Puzzling over the message in the note, the children looked at one another. They had all given a present or two, but who could this one be for?
After some debate, the children decided to open it together.
The faded brown paper was torn off, to reveal a plain wooden box. Lifting the lid, they found a note resting on a handful of straw. As one child took the note, they all noticed what had been underneath it.
A wooden heart, painted red.
Unfolding the note, the child read what it said.
"For the one who gave all, I give my heart."
The children looked at one another, then put the note back into the box, closed the lid, and set the box on the table. As the day continued, they thought about the strange little gift. And as night fell, they returned to the table. Lifting the lid, they looked at the wooden heart. Then one by one, each child set a heart in the box. Some were paper, others crafted from clay.
Once the last child had placed his heart in the box, the children smiled. "We remember." They said, looking from one to another. Their parents had told them the reason that they celebrated Christmas.
They knew who the present was for.