The Real Christmas Presents

by - December 08, 2010

It's Christmas morning. Early. Too early.

But this can't be helped because there's too much eagerness to be borne a moment longer. So they come, they rush in, and wake parents who have long forgotten the feeling of sleep deprivation. Teens too old for this kind of excitement, and yet there they are in all their expectancy. And it's delightful, their energy contagious.

It's not magic, but Christmas morning Love come far down to share the centerpiece of heaven with earth.

He's come.

So they rise early, sleepy, expectant. To see for themselves, to behold God's gift to the world. It's wrapped in brown paper, plain, but boasting a shimmering ribbon to hint at the radiance of the gift within. It's quietly lost among the rest of the gleaming presents beneath their tree. But this plain brown gift was the first to be placed there, once alone among the branches and boughs of a cornered December tree.

The first Christmas gifts to ever be given, to introduce them to Christmas, is always first to be unwrapped, held close and treasured. There are three children, and but two gifts in a trilogy given so far ... the third gift of his second coming not yet birthed from the eastern sky. So they fight to be the one to open, to place the Babe in his rightful manger, the one that waited empty until now. The gift is announced and bestowed.

"To The World, from God," one child heralds as another dismantles the brown paper trappings to unveil the Christ.

The father reads the familiar text, there is holy hush and prayer and a stray tear leaking unspeakable thanks to be witnessing with fellow beasts of burden the divine marry the earthly in a barn. They sing quiet,

"Great is thy faithfulness, 
O God, my Father.
There is no shadow
Of turning with thee.
Thou changest not,
Thy compassions, they fail not.
Great is thy faithfulness,
 Lord unto me. 

The next gift is announced, "To the Sinner, From Jesus" and they unwrap the cruelty and punishment they were due for their sin, yet unfathomably spared, saved from their wretched end by the only One who could survive it. His purpose in coming is reverently remembered. How can it be? This two-part gift unwrapping birth for the purpose of death? They speak of it with sacred words, read of death and resurrection, and the nail pierces grateful hearts to hang strangely at home among the other ornaments of celebration on a tree. They sing O Come, All Ye Faithful because they are indeed joyful and triumphant.

Only then, is the family ready for earthly gifts given. Only then are they prepared to receive, and give, from hearts overflowing with the spirit of Christmas.

On Wednesdays I and others walk with Him. Join us?

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