Sad day, sad day. My oldest grandson, age 6, had lost his most-loved
stuffed animal, Gilbert the cat. He and his parents had checked the obvious
places, like under his bed, in the cars, the school and church lost-and-found, and
the toy piles at his home and ours. Nothing. Such a sad countenance this
six-year-old had as he searched the toy stash at our house—finding nothing.
Then one night he and his two younger siblings (2 and almost
5) came for care while their parents had a “date night reprieve.” It’s always a
circus of both cooperative and competitive play. He’d gotten tired of the train
toys so grabbed the little barn known for the “moo” when you open its doors. I
heard the “moo” and then the shout, “Gilbert!” Apparently, the last trip here
for care, he’d put Gilbert in the barn for safekeeping and forgot all about it.
In his “hunt” at our house, he didn’t try the barn. And his Nana had no reason
to play with the barn and find it!
I’ve had a few lost-and-found episodes myself, lately. I’ve
learned to assign “hot spots” for important things, but this time my “hot spot”
was cold. I did eventually find the item, but what a search. Two biblical parallels came to mind. One was Luke 15, which offers three “lost”
parables right in a row. First, the lost sheep, which represented the shepherd’s
livelihood. Second, the lost coin, which probably fell off a woman’s “money”-necklace,
representing her life’s emergency fund. Third, the lost (prodigal) son, for the
loss of relationship. All three speak to God’s love: He won’t let go, He
constantly provides, and He waits when we go off and make bad choices.
The second Biblical tie-in I sensed was the book of
Philippians. As a young adult, inspired by friends who were disciplined in
Bible memorization, I decided to memorize the book I’d heard called “the epistle
of joy.” In what had been some very difficult years of my young life, I was
seeking deeper joy. So, verse sections at time, written on 3x5 cards, I trudged
through the task. Today when I read Philippians, it is an old friend, its teachings
about deep-down God-focused joy returning to mind.
This seems to be its essential truth: that joy derives both
from a healthy relationship with God and with others. What a statement Paul
made when he wrote, “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you.” I hope
people say that of me! Sadly, though, we can’t say that of everyone we meet in
life. Toxic and unhappy people make the journey hard. But I cling to the truths
about “lost-ness” expressed in John 15: that our passionate, compassionate God keeps
giving second chances and more.
The “found-ness” of a well-loved (and needing-washed!) Gilbert-the-stuffed-cat
reminded me of that.
Little snow-covered towns, purchased one ornate building at
a time, have become a popular holiday decoration. I have such a little town
that I put on the piano. We no longer have space for our artificial tree
(grandchildren books now occupy that corner) so this and the kid-friendly,
hands-on crèche are the simple holiday touches to our décor.
The little grandboys enjoy turning on the switch for the
tiny lights inside each building. When the weather outside is “frightful,”
well, inside, it’s just delightful! Especially if their papa pulls a carton of
ice cream out of the freezer and they have a “guy treat”!
I spent part of my life in southern California where there’s no “white
Christmas.” Most of my life has been in central Washington, where there likely is. And when
those flakes do come, usually after several weeks of bone-chilling cold—there’s
a special sense of peace as they cover up all that is dead and ugly.
Maybe that’s the charm of the little pretend towns. They
invite us into a tiny world where there are no slums, crime, war, or sorrow….
It certainly doesn’t look like it did 2,000 years ago, but
photos and songs about Bethlehem
stir a similar yearning—to have been there when Jesus was born, to sense there
would be light in the darkness. That was something of the impression left on an
American minister named Philips Brooks. In
1865, as a young man, he visited Bethlehem’s
“Church of the Nativity” for a Christmas eve service, and never forgot it.
A few years later, back home in America—more specifically to
Holy Trinity Church in Philadelphia where his huge (6-foot-6, 300 pounds) body
filled the pulpit—this well-known pastor wanted a children’s hymn for the
Christmas Sunday school program. He came up with the lyrics and gave them to
his Sunday school superintendent, Lewis Redner, asking the man to come up with
a tune for them simple enough for children to sing. Nothing seemed “right” as
Redner struggled with music. Then the night before the program, Redner woke
with a tune in his mind. He wrote it down immediately, always later insisting
that Heaven gave him the tune. It’s been a favorite of children and adults
since.
Brooks was a lifelong bachelor who had a distinguished
career as a pastor in Philadelphia and Boston, then a short term
as Bishop of Massachusetts, before his death at 58. It’s said he loved children
and kept toys in his office so children would feel free to come and visit with
him. In this, his only known hymn, you hear his awe of the incarnation, and his
tender heart:
How silently, how
silently, the wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to
human hearts the blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His
coming, but, in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will
receive Him still/ The dear Christ enters in.
“How silently”—an apt description of snow falling, and of
the certain though quiet way we often sense the love of God.
If Santa
was for real, what would be the most-requested item in his mailbox?
I wonder
how many millions of notes would ask for “Frozen” costumes and play gadgets. Or
toys connected to Spiderman or some other super-power character?
Back in the
really old days—like Bible times—kids
had pretty simple want-lists. I pick that up from Jesus’ teaching about children’s
gifts:
You parents—if your children ask for a loaf
of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give
them a snake? Of course not! If you sinful people know how to give good gifts
to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to
those who ask him. (Matthew 7:9-10)
This teaching’s context is
Jesus’ “Sermon on the Mount” in which He unlocked truths about a holy but
gracious and generous God. I think the point of this portion is sometimes we
are asking for symbolic stones and snakes, not realizing their worthlessness
and potential for harm. If human, fallible parents can make good judgment calls about children’s “wish lists,” so much more can our Heavenly Father do so.
When my
children—now adults and parents—were small, they were allowed to open one gift
before breakfast and before opening the rest of their presents. They knew it would be rectangular and rattle
when shaken. Because I favored buying “healthy” breakfast cereal the rest of
the year, their joke gift would be the most sugar-laden, crazily-advertised
cereal I could find.
The rest of
the year, they had to eat healthier stuff, but oh the sugar rolled on Christmas
morning. I called the joke gifts “Flicky Flacky Flakes,” and thankfully the
package didn’t last the week. The normal breakfast around our house—something a
challenge with their lists of likes and dislikes—was usually a bit more
nutritious to keep them from fading halfway through the school day.
In my adult
world—my spiritual adult world—I try to guard against empty spiritual calories
in the morning. I don’t have a “Santa list,” but my first thought in the quietness
of an early morning devotional time is like this little song: “Good morning,
Lord, this is your day. I am your child. Show me your way.”
I don’t
need Santa. I don’t need stuff. But I do need God’s gracious provision of
wisdom to discern stones from the Bread of Life, and snakes from the miracle Sea-of-Galilee fishing nets, in the choices and problems I
face every day.
Years ago, when our now-adult children were, well, children,
part of the fun at Christmas was the nighttime drive to see homes and yards
where people went all-out decorating. Oh, the excesses we saw. Santa and his
reindeer-driven sleigh (yes, Rudolph had a blinking red nose) next to the Holy
Family in a shed. Then Frosty the Snowman close to the green Grinch. Sparkling
angels! Sound tracks! We wondered if some homes could be seen from space!
Then we came home to our simpler decorating: a string of
lights across the front, a modest tree with a hodgepodge of ornaments, a
kid-friendly crèche with plastic figures, and a few other family knickknacks.
Oh yes, the traditional poinsettia from the hardware store’s Thanksgiving
early-bird sale. By January it had lost most of its leaves. Blame my black
thumb.
I don’t think my kids were irreparably damaged because we
didn’t go “all out.” The best part was that after New Year’s, there wasn’t as
much a hassle for the stuff to go all-in, as “back in” storage boxes.
For that, blame their mother’s leaning toward simplicity. This
photo depicting simpler living, which I cut from a magazine
years ago, is framed and hangs in a bedroom. The lyrics around the edge are
from a 19th century Shaker song:
‘Tis a gift to be
simple, ‘tis a gift to be free,
‘Tis a gift to come
down where we ought to be.
And when we find
ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the
valley of love and delight.
I see this framed saying as I come into that bedroom to change a grandbaby's diaper. I spot it as I come around the
corner with a basket of laundry to fold on the same bed. Constantly it reminds
me that “love” and “delight” last lots longer than “stuff” (and certainly that
holiday poinsettia!).
Sometimes when I hear someone say they bought “themselves” a
Christmas gift, I have to smile inside. Maybe they indulged themselves by
self-giving, but only God can provide the true “Christmas gift”--and it was a
lavish one:
How great is the love
the Father has lavished on us, that
we should be called children of God! (1 John 3:1 NIV).
Nothing can compare.
