The Tales Gifts Tell

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light – Isaiah 9

The tree is up, the lights are lit, and the gifts are huddled beneath.

One may think of Christmas gifts as inanimate objects – things wrapped in fancy paper, tied with ribbons, topped with bows of varied sizes – but one would be wrong in their thinking.

Every gift lies quietly beneath the tree or within the stocking hung by the chimney, and while we may not hear them (with our ears) speaking or whispering, they do (in all truth) have stories to share and tales to tell.

Some gifts disappoint their recipients, of course. Who hasn’t groaned a little inside opening up that floppy package knowing full-well it was going to be socks, underwear, or a new plaid shirt to replace the ones you’ve suddenly outgrown since school started? You plaster a smile on your face, look at Mom and Dad, and beam forth with the best, “Oh, gee, thanks,” you can muster. Mom and Dad know the truth, and they certainly know the thanks is more tip of the tongue than bottom of the heart, but they accept it graciously as the morning mayhem continues.

While the practical gifts may underwhelm their young recipients, they are more than made up for by gifts that dazzle. I still remember the thrill of coming out into the living room Christmas morning so many years ago as a young lad to find a brand new Schwinn bicycle standing next to the tree – a THREE SPEED! That more than made up for the decade of underwear and socks, and my appreciation did arise from closer to the bottom of my heart.

Gifts tell a tale. Some tell us they’re here to meet our basic needs. They may not be sexy, but they have a job to do, and they tell us loved ones are watching over us. Other gifts dazzle us like lightning flashing out of the blue – an unexpected shock (like a bike), or the special something that says, “You’re the pitta to my patta!”

The gifts beneath the tree, of course, are stunt doubles. I’ve got a very nice High Definition television at home and am amazed at how well I can now discern the use of stunt doubles on some of the old shows, like Star Trek or The Rifleman. Back in the halcyon days of black and white TVs with thirteen inch screens and grainy images such details simply could not be seen. But one can sure see those personnel switches now!

Likewise, the gifts beneath the tree are low-definition stunt doubles for the greatest gift of all – Jesus Christ.

I suspect many of us are so caught up “in the moment” of Christmas morning that meditating on that first nativity is lost in the busy hum of the day’s activities: making breakfast, opening packages, getting the feast going (if hosting) or getting ready to head out to join up with family or friends.

I will confess that I have never asked God to “clothe me with your righteousness” as I’ve gotten dressed on Christmas morning. My primary goal is to remember to zip up and pray the buttons on my shirt match the button hole they’re supposed to go through!

The fact is, though, at some point of the day, it is nice to stop, pause, and reflect that while the day’s gifts may or may not delight us, they point beyond themselves to ONE who came not to tickle our fancy, but heal our wounds and tackle our woes. He does not need batteries to work, but will eventually be battered (and die) for our sake.

By the end of the Day, the house will be a mess – a disaster. It will look a bit like a proverbial tornado came blowing through while we were making merry. That, my friends, is reality’s stunt-double. No matter how hard we work to make things right, at the end of the day life can be one chaotic mess – and that’s when the gifts tell us the rest of the story.

God did not come to spend time taking care of the mess. That’s just a side-benefit of God’s real purpose: to spend time with us. That’s the tale the Christmas gifts tell in this, our valley. Merry Christmas everyone – and Happy New Year!

Note: The wax angel was a gift from a friend and has survived nearly 30 years of service (and who-knows how many moves). The angel atop our tree was a gift from my mother, who made it lo so many years ago. Both gifts are so special.

Asleep on the Hay

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Learn from it; tomorrow is a new day – Ralph Waldo Emerson

My daughter sent a text the other day telling me that she and the family had lost power. Actually, they hadn’t lost it; they’d been disconnected. It seems their landlord had done some electrical work over the summer but had failed to pull a necessary permit or obtain an inspection. Although our daughter and her family have always been current (no pun) with their utility bills, the company (without warning or notice) cut them off (despite their being a “valued” customer).

The property owner was scrambling to do what he could to get power restored, but in the meantime, the family was without heat, lights, or the other basic necessities of life – an issue only exacerbated by it being winter. This is not a time of year one wants to go without heat – no matter who is at fault!

Without hesitation, of course, we had them come over and move in until the situation could be resolved. We enacted our own little Christmas Pageant and made room for Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus (who, in this case, are Andrew, Jennifer, and baby Ameena – along with one of the Wise ones, their son Elijah). The set was complete, including the Innkeeper (played wonderfully well by my wife, Barb), and the requisite donkey (played by yours truly).

The crisis lasted only a day, but it was a delight to have our family together to deal with it. Like those holy refugees of old, they packed up everything they needed and made their way to our place. I had a chance to teach Elijah how to play Solitaire and, when they discovered they’d neglected to pack a bottle for Ameena (who’s almost outgrown them now that she is a year old), Elijah and I trundled off to the nearby grocery to pick one up.

Sadly, Grandpa’s not as up on Nipple technology these days as he should be, so the bottle I chose was fine, but the dispenser needed some delicate surgery to function right. Uff-da! At least I now know we have a Plastic Surgeon in the family, and the rest of the family knows I should be awarded a boobie prize for my shopping skills.

Be that all as it may, everyone survived. Around midnight Ameena alerted the world to a case of sudden dampness. Her momma was soundly asleep, so Barb and I got up to attend to Ameena who, unlike the original baby Jesus, “crying DID make.”

We got her changed (after we studied the intricacies of modern diaper design and gave it our best shot – after all, that’s what she had done!). She wasn’t quite ready to go back to sleep, however, being in unfamiliar surroundings and wanting to study her environment, so we sat together and passed the time in quiet conversation. If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s talking (and at times, acting) like a one-year-old.

Unlike my brain, the lights around our house don’t have dimmers, but over time, we turned them out one by one until we were in the relative darkness of deep night. I held that miracle we call Ameena in my lap and rocked for a while until she was perfectly at peace with the world.

I can’t help but wonder if that isn’t what God wants for us, as well: a chance to clean us, dry us, change us, and hold us safely in his (or her) lap.

When the fullness of time had come and Ameena was out for the count, I got up from the rocker (a nice change of pace as I’m usually accused of being “off” my rocker) with the child splayed out about as relaxed as a child can get, trundled to the guestroom where momma was asleep, and set her gently in her crib, covering her carefully with a blanket.

I stood over her play-pen for a moment to confirm she was safe and secure, then returned to bed for my own much-needed sleep.

I think that’s what it means to be under the loving care of One who never slumbers nor sleeps, but (who) keeps vigilant watch o’er the human race. Happy Advent & Merry Christmas to y’all in this, our valley!