The Perfect Gift

A friend told me recently that she had found the perfect gift for her husband, who is a wonderful cook.  It is a cookbook that has just come out.  All of the recipes are by chefs who are immigrants, and all of the proceeds help to advocate for immigrants and refugees to this country.  Her husband is passionate about the recipes and the cause.

It is, indeed, the perfect gift.

I think about this sometimes:  the perfect gift.  It's the one that I want to give.  The exact perfect gift:  the thing that you would never ask for, but want, nevertheless.  The perfect gift is not the one that is on the list of "things you want for Christmas" (although they are good too.)  The perfect gift isn't necessarily expensive.  Being pricey isn't what makes it perfect.  It might be small, or it might be large.  It just fits the person, perfectly.  It is something they want, without knowing it.

One year I gave everyone in the family scarves for Christmas.  They weren't terribly difficult to make, but it was more time-consuming than I thought it would be.  I'm not sure they were exactly the "perfect" gifts, but I wanted to give something that had a little bit of myself in it, so I knitted all these scarves.  One of them I just barely finished before the 4:00 service on Christmas Eve.  I'm actually not sure it was long enough, even now.

I want to give the perfect gift to everyone every year, but, to be truthful, I'm not sure I hit the mark that often.  I remember thinking I had something good for my mom one year, the year that my dad died.  Then my mom opened the Christmas present from my niece and nephew, pictures of them when they are small, put in a frame.  And she cried.  And I knew that they had given the perfect gift.

This is the season of gift-giving, and there are times that my heart just wants to give something to everyone.  Toys for children!  Books for everyone!  Something hand-made!  Then there are other times when it just seems overwhelming, and I wish I could be content with Grace.  Just the gift of life, of other people.  Just the gift of laughter, tears, someone who will not abandon you.  Just the gift of the herald angels singing, Glory to the newborn king, the gift of candles glowing, the gift of the silent night, the gift of the baby, joy to the world.

He was not what we asked for, not what we wanted, or at least, not what we think we wanted.  In the end we rejected him, in one way or another.  He is a baby who will create peace, and make a lot of trouble.  He will bring new life, in a world that mostly wants to stay the same.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His Heaven.
No hear may hear his coming
But in this world of sin
Where meek souls will receive him still
The dear Christ enters in.

Don't Make the Gift Too Ethereal

A couple of weeks ago, I sat down for supper at the community meal hosted by our congregation.  At the table was a young family from our congregation and a woman from our neighborhood , a woman I didn't know.  We had a good time sharing small talk with one another, trying to convince the two young children that the turkey casserole was just as delicious as pizza, and sharing small bits of our lives.

After some time the children and their father left, the children off to choir practice, and I continued to talk with the woman for a little while.  I don't remember either of us saying anything very earth-shaking.  She praised the food and the company.  She said she really enjoyed coming here for supper and mentioned that she had attended funerals at our church, on occasion.  Then she looked around and said that she really liked the fact that there were all ages, including children, eating supper together.  "There aren't any children in my life right now," she said.

This past week I didn't see her at supper;  I had finished early so that I could prepare my short advent meditation for the worship that evening.  However, I saw her in passing right before worship and she mentioned that she had left a small gift in my mailbox.

The next day I discovered it:  a short note thanking me for our conversation the previous week, along with two bottles of Ensure and a "Bless Our Home" wall-hanging.  She said I should use those things however I saw fit.

A lot of people say they are praying for me, but I have to say that I was touched by this particular gift.  It was something simple and ordinary and real, and it was not ethereal at all.  It was not a symbol of Hope or World Peace, not a great grand gesture which is a symbol of Something Else Entirely.

It's been one of those Advents for me, when everything seems to be getting away from me.  I always have these great intentions of devotional discipline during Advent.  I will light candles.  I will write.  I will read.  I will pray.  I will move along the path toward enlightenment, and then I will share that enlightenment with my congregation.  But, to be honest, the enlightenment has mostly eluded me this year.  I keep saying that Advent is about waiting, about watching, about preparing.  But all of those things seem very ethereal to me right now, slipping through my fingers like a piece of thick fog.

But then there are two bottles of Ensure and a wall-hanging.  I can hold them in my hands.  They are a gift to use as I see fit.

I am thinking about laying off the deeper meanings of Advent for awhile, and just holding on to the ordinary things, the things I can touch:  a simple meal, a few words, a small gift to use as I see fit.  Instead of straining toward a far horizon, I will touch, and look at what is right in front of me.  And I will say that somehow, God is right here, at the table, in the simple mess, not ethereal at all.

Take and eat.
Taste and see.
The true meaning of Advent.