Christmas Surprises

One year, when I was a child, I found where my parents had hidden all my Christmas presents.  Each and every one of them.  It was not until after I’d opened all my gifts on Christmas morning that I realized how successful my snooping had been.  There was not a single surprise waiting  for me under the Christmas tree.

                               

It was a profoundly disappointing Christmas.

The Christmas memories that are most vivid to me, the ones I hold most dear, seem to hold within them some element of surprise.  I remember the year my older sister and I woke to find a painted, wooden sink and stove set, handmade by our dad.  Neither of us had asked for these gifts or listed them as things we wanted; they simply appeared as if by magic.  I can only imagine the joy it gave my father to work on them secretly down in the basement.  We loved and played with them well, as did my daughter.  They reside in my basement still, and I wonder who might play with them next.

For a number of years my family exchanged names at Christmastime, choosing to buy a gift only for one other person.  One year, my dad had drawn my name and bought me a set of Christmas dishes.  Again, I hadn’t asked for these, nor do I remember especially wanting them.  It turns out, those dishes were just what I wanted.  They were a surprising gift from someone who truly desired to give me something he thought would make me smile.  Each year when I use them, I do smile and I remember my dad and his gift of love.

I was expecting that my family would be unable to enjoy Christmas the December my father died.  Surprisingly, I was given the gift of embracing the Incarnation in a richer, deeper way.  Tears flowed as I sang the words to familiar carols:  Mild He lays His glory by; Born that men no more may die.  That Christmas I knew, as I’d never known before, how desperately I needed those words to be true.  I needed the reality of Jesus’ birth.

It makes sense that surprise should be a part of the joy and wonder of Christmas.  Nobody knew, nobody was expecting that a humble birth in an obscure town was exactly what they’d been longing for, exactly what they needed.  A curse had been pronounced, a Messiah promised.  All creation groaned in expectation.  And, at just the right time, a child was born in a ridiculously impossible way, dealing a mortal blow to the head of creation’s enemy.

Surprise!

Last year, I tried to create the perfect Christmas for my family as I expected it to be the last time we’d all be together for a long time.  I wanted to create warm, happy, family memories.  Instead, tension built and tempers flared.  I laid awake much of Christmas Eve; remnants of bitter, angry words chasing away any possible visions of sugar plums.  The words, you are ruining Christmas, had actually escaped from my mouth.

Somewhere in the night, though, I received a gift.  I heard my heavenly Father say, No one can ruin Christmas.  I sent Christmas because you are all ruined.

Before breakfast Christmas morning, as we were gathered around the table ready to eat off of my lovely Christmas dishes, I prayed, Thank you, Lord that you sent your Son to fix all our broken places.  Sometime later, the dear one to whom I’d spoken the ugly words told my pastor how much he appreciated that prayer.  Guess what was my favorite gift of last Christmas?

What’s my hope for Christmas this year?  Surprise me, Lord.

Offering my imperfect prose with emily and others:

And sharing with Faith Barista's Thursday Jam:  Your hopes for Christmas.