Skip to main content

Gifts

I do not usually like presents. I don't like to give them and I rarely like to get them. I am a practical girl. I know what I need. I like to do my own shopping. I don't like to guess at what family and friends want or need. My kids are rarely surprised on their birthdays because we go shopping together.

I received an unexpected check a few weeks ago. When I first opened it I thought, "God sent us money to cover bills that I don't yet know about." Then I thought, "Nah!" and prepared to spend the money on Stuart's birthday...all of it...on a great camera. I made him tell me exactly which model he wanted. Then, last week he was driving home from work and a rear window fell down...clunk... right down into the door. He couldn't coax it out. The mechanics at the car dealership could... and did...for six hundred fifty dollars. Next, Charlie needed to take a trip to the emergency room. Happy Birthday, Stuart.

My husband buys me funky artistic jewelry. I like understated elegance. I unwrapped a five disc CD player a few birthdays ago. "Thank You. It is just what I wanted." I rarely use it. I can't turn off the kids but electronics, that's another story. Stuart sees it differently...drown out the crying with Nickel Creek. For Christmas this year... more jewelry, hand lotion and a nail buffer. The last two were a hit. Why? Because they appeal to my real love language...acts of service, quality time and attention. Every once in a while he grabs the manicure tools and goes to work. Heaven!

God doesn't care if I like gifts or not. He pours out His goodness anyway. My family life is rich with His blessing... great husband, funny kids.

Some of His gifts come wrapped in some really ugly wrapping paper though. Aspbergers , PMS, this current season of loneliness... I wonder if He watches my face as I receive these...sees me recoil...turn away. He keeps holding them out to me until I begin to work my way through the wrapping. These packages that appear so unattractive on the outside are the ones that compel me to reach for my Father's hand, to listen for His direction, to pour my heart out to him. (One of His love languages must be quality time and attention.) God knows me so well He gives perfect gifts...ones that will transform my weaknesses into His strengths. Turns out, they are just what I wanted.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Child's Story Bible

I have recommended the following book so frequently that I think a post is in order so that I may recommend it to the world. In the early nineteen hundreds, when my grandparents were growing from children to adults, when they were meeting and marrying and making ends meet during the Depression, Catherine F. Vos was at work. She had been out shopping, looking for the perfect children’s story bible. The Christian bookstores of the day must have had the same unsatisfactory fare for young children that they carry today. Her standards were high as she was the wife of a professor of theology and she could not find what she was looking for. So she started to write. The results of her writing, The Child’s Story Bible was first published in stages between the years of 1934-1936. It’s been republished in every decade since that time. My grandparents had my parents and they met and married and had me and somewhere along the way I acquired a Bible. I read from the book of Proverbs from time to t

A Sure Foundation

The kids and I have been nibbling our way through the book of Isaiah for months. It's our first venture as a family into the prophets. We wrestle with the message. It's a book for our times. Isaiah wrote to his people, the people of Judah, at the dawn of a long season of international turmoil. Assyria ran rough shod over the Middle East, followed in quick succession by Babylon, Persia and Greece. According to Isaiah, each empire was brought down because of they were quick to gloat over their achievements but failed to give God the time of day. The sin of haughty eyes he calls it. I brown the meat and simmer the stew and slice a crusty loaf of Italian bread but do not bow my head before I eat. It's the little red hen complex. I ground the wheat and kneaded the dough and sliced the carrots. I don't take into account that I didn't make the carrots or the wheat grow. I forget to be thankful that there are groceries in the pantry and healthy children around the table.

Finding Rest: Part Two (Scroll down three posts to read this story from the beginning)

Why share such a personal story ? I share it because I have talked to enough women to know that underneath the makeup and the matching outfits and the small talk that make up our exteriors, we are a broken people. To pretend otherwise creates isolation. Thoughtful honesty creates closer relationships and greater understanding. When we share the way God works in the difficult things of life it encourages first oneself and then others. For some of us, the pieces have been patched and restored and there is wholeness where there was none before. But some of us are walking wounded, barely hanging on and wondering if there is hope. We have a choice. We can either be completely shattered by bitterness, depression and anger or we can lay the fragments before the One who can take the sharp slivers and jagged pieces and create a beautiful, productive life. Here is the conclusion to John's story. When John was ten, he was sullen and moody and difficult and so was I. But I was no longer proud.