There weren't many Christmas gifts given in our homes of origin. Primarily the reasons were economic: lots of kids and not a lot of money. For a number of years, though, my Mom was greatly influenced by some who held to the ideology that Christmas had been polluted by such pagan practices and focus, that even gift giving would detract from the main reason for the season. We often drove to visit out-of-town relatives over the holidays; playing with cousins was such fun, but there was that awkwardness Christmas morning, when our cousins opened gifts and we had none. The picture shown below was taken the year our Aunt Mary felt sorry for us and got us each a little gift: as you can see from my facial expression, in my little blue dress, I was so grateful for the bubble bath in the plastic alarm clock container, but my heart yearned for a doll.
Our temptation, when we became parents ourselves, was to give our children all the things we would have loved. It was difficult not to lavish them with possessions to feed our own inner child, but we so did not want to spoil our kids! Using the example of the wise men in Scripture, we settled on a rule of threes for Christmas gifting: our kids would each receive three gifts from us. Technically, this same rule was supposed to apply to Larry and I as well, in the spirit of fairness. However, as our children (biological and foreign) will tell you, Larry's generous nature refuses to be contained, especially when he gets presents for me. All the Christmas gifts will be opened and then Larry will sneak out another something exquisite, with my name on it. Another favorite trick of his has been grouping presents together; "but if they are all wrapped in the same box, isn't it still just one gift?" (I know, it is a burden I have had to carry for many years!) When the kids roll their eyes and accuse him of being unfair, he justifies himself saying that he is just making up for all the years that I did without. Even though they would never admit it, I think our children secretly find this very sweet, though it is bending the rules.
On December 25, 2010, I tried to preempt his generosity with a gift of my own: on Christmas morning in Big Sky, Montana, I read this to him in front of our kids, before we opened our presents. It's about a gift, really, about MY gift, but you will figure that out. Oh, and when all the gifts were opened, we made Larry leave the room and then pulled out a piano we had hidden in a closet! He has been taking piano lessons since his 50th birthday and it is his favorite hobby. Just once, I got to give the best gift.
The Gift
There once was a girl whose young life was fraught with challenges. She was born despite the doctor's warnings of the cost to her momma's health. Her big sister took care of her a lot, when her momma was too tired. For all the things she could not give her child, the momma prayed a lot. She gave the girl a feeling in her heart that she was on earth for a reason, that God wanted her here.
Before her fifth birthday, the young girl's world was shaken like a scene in a snow globe. There was a fateful phone call about an accident, seven children around a mother in a kitchen uttering hollow assurances to each other: "it wasn't him; surely it was someone else." The preacher's car in the driveway, the snowflakes in the globe started to settle, but alas, the scene was totally rearranged. Her daddy was lost in the icy waters. They wanted her to kiss him good-bye in the casket, but his face was hard and cold and she struggled to break away.
Later that same year, her momma went to the big Cleveland Clinic for heart surgery. As they said good-bye before she was wheeled away, the children wondered if this would be the year they would be orphaned. She came home a month later, but her heart still wasn't right.
On her journey through childhood, the young girl learned to parent herself: "if you wanted it, you just had to make it happen on your own." She also discovered a secret in the Big Book: God is a Father to the Fatherless. That was her! Someone did care about her and looked with tenderness. God was her Father.
Ten years later, the snow globe shook again. A wintry January night, a thud in the momma's bedroom, children trying desperately to revive their Momma's limp form, ambulance sirens piercing the cold air. They called it a "stroke". It changed the momma and the children became the adults.
At fifteen, the young girl did all she could to keep life normal - along with three other siblings, she cared for the momma, she paid the bills, she cooked and cleaned, she went to school when she could. And she prayed to her Father. He was her only security in a snow globe blizzard world. She held out her hands to Him and said that even if she didn't understand, she would accept whatever life brought her way. The world could tumble down, but He was permanent.
In her eighteenth year, she was given a gift from the benevolent hand of her Father. After he called and asked her out, she told her brother that her heart was beating out of her chest with excitement! She knew from that first evening that he was something very special. It was his heart: when he was formed, the Father gave him a piece of His own heart, infinitely kind, with eyes that saw through the superficial to the sanctity of the soul. Without effort, he loved her unconditionally and accepted all that was there. He was her gift from God.
Through moments that have stood still, and years speeding by, she has heard the music of God's love through him. Others hear the notes as well, as he daily gives of himself to those dealing with the dreaded "C" word. The fragrance of God lingers on his coat.
This Christmas, the once young girl's heart is full to the top with gratitude. Someday, on Christmas Day in another world, she will stand face to face before her Father, and with arms reaching up, she will say, "Thank you. Thank you for the gift of him."
