Christmas Meditation: What Can I Give?

I thought this would be easy. Foolish me. Having years of written devotions and reflections at my disposal, I figured it would be a simple matter to select and adapt one to suit my purposes for this year's Christmas meditation. And yet, out of all of that precious raw material, none seems to satisfy, none seem suited to the moment.

I grew up in a stable family with loving parents, with means afforded to that of a military officer coupled with wise saving and financial discipline. Gift giving at Christmas, while never extravagant, was nothing I would ever consider meager. I suppose I could write about Christmases past, shuttling between grandparents and Christmas Eve services in Chicago, sharing a plethora of memories that are warm and comforting, but in the end these offer little material for public consumption.

In the years between my childhood and young adulthood, I began to place less value on both the receiving and giving of gifts. I'm really not sure why. The act of giving brought some joy, and the act of receiving, while a little more difficult, brought some pleasure too. But for whatever reason, the gifts (the objects themselves) became less important or precious. A personal failing perhaps. Or perhaps a simple reordering of personal priorities. I began to take a little more seriously this idea of laying up treasures in heaven, rather than accumulating them on earth. Gifts continued to be given and received, but always with the knowledge of their temporal nature. We continued to prosper, and in turn, where we could, we endeavored to share that prosperity. In a word, we have been comfortable.

The past few years have been particularly trying, putting to the test that comfort. Early in 2011, a severely ruptured appendix that was nearly missed as the result of inconclusive ultrasounds and CT scans put me in the hospital for a week. That same spring, a couple of months later, another near miss as a massive tornado outbreak swept across the south, coming as close as half a mile, leaving us in the dark - but safe - for seven days. In the summer of 2011, I came home with one son from a camping trip to find my wife and other son bruised and sore from a car accident from which they somehow walked away. And then finally, in 2012, standing above the rubble of my home - destroyed by a direct hit from a high-end EF2 tornado - I could do nothing but give thanks for the fact that the love of my life and our children were safe. The outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and community - locally and online - was a gift beyond measure. And today, we are once again living day by day, with jobs and kids and crazy calendars, in a rebuilt home on the spot where so much could have been lost. And yet wasn't.

I have been given so much. Indeed, the greatest gifts I have ever received is the air I breathe, the family I love, and the faith to which I cling.

What should one do with a life that, when compared to so many, seems so fortunate and blessed? What can I give that could compare to the mercy and grace I have received, and continue to find sitting on my doorstep? I can give things, money, time … all this could help make me feel better, but to feel better is to attempt to assuage a guilt that I need not carry.

No, the burden is not one born of guilt, but rather one born of debt. For one who has been given so much, what can I give? What light can I bring to push back the darkness, today and everyday? What joy, what hope, what love can I extend that will touch the lives of those who so desperately need those things?

What can I give? Things, money, and time? Yes. Perhaps a kind word, a prayer, or even a holy kick in the rear.

In the end, I have been given life. I have been given love. I have been given grace I have never once deserved. I have been given modest means, and I have been given a voice. And yet, to hoard these gifts would be to squander them.

The picture below is of an ornament in the heart of our Christmas tree. Recovered from the storm, this is the ornament I most cherish. Not because of the thing itself, but because of the scene it captures, the truth it represents.

What can I give? Perhaps, as the old hymn says, simply this: my soul, my life, my all.

How can I possibly live up to such a high ideal? I don't know that I can. But I will try, and pray that grace covers the rest. Such is the promise, such is much my hope.

To you, and to your families, peace and grace.

Merry Christmas!