Christmas morning of my
fifth year I woke to find a wooden
rifle under the tree, carefully carved by my dad, complete with a dowel
barrel
and a hole for my trigger finger. I can almost smell the fresh paint
mingled
with the fragrance of pine branches. And though I don't recall playing
with it,
I remember the awe I felt in knowing my dad made it just for me.
Not all gifts, however, are so personally intended. After that
horrendous brown
vase I got at a Christmas party, at least I had the perverse joy of
watching
someone open "How to Raise Rhesus Monkeys" that had been
foisted off
on me the year before. Then there's a punch-out calendar to sit on my
desk
reminding me all year long to buy Farmer's Insurance. And the mortuary
that
gives away bottles of hand lotion every year--my family always calls it
"embalming fluid."
What takes the joy out of giving are the obligatory gifts--the expected
office
exchange, the box of candy you keep by the door to hand the Smiths when
they
come to call as you know they will, once a year. And don't forget the
gift for
great Aunt Hattie whom you haven't liked since she pinched your cheeks
when you
were little.
Really difficult are the gifts that come with long invisible strings
dangling
from them, gifts so very expensive that you could never afford to
reciprocate.
Gold and diamond jewelry from a suitor. You don't want to hurt his
feelings,
but ....
I wonder how Mary and Joseph felt as they watched richly robed wise men
kneel
before their child offering alabaster jars of precious myrrh, inlaid
boxes
heavy with the scent of frankincense, and iron-bound chests laden with
gold - gifts
fit for a king. How could they possibly repay?
I guess the most troublesome gift at Christmas is the Child Himself.
What do we
say? We smile nicely and pat the humbly- wrapped present. "How nice
of
you, God, to have been so thoughtful," we mumble politely. But the
Gift
lies on the dresser unopened year after year. Perhaps because we don't
expect
to find much inside except a useless religious trinket. Perhaps because
we
don't feel any need for God just now.
Perhaps because we know that if we unwrap the Gift we'll be obligated to the Giver beyond what we can ever repay. And so it sits ... and so it sits until in loneliness, in pain, in utter desperation we tug at the ribbons and tear off the wrappings, hoping against hope we'll find inside what we've longed for. And so it is. Unconditional Love!
