Christmas
is known as a season of giving among Christians and others although Christ
Himself exhorted His followers to make “giving” a daily way of life. Much of what now fills my little duplex came
from my husband—store bought or handcrafted.
These represent to me that real, meaningful gift-giving is an art. It is not about black Fridays, green Mondays
or purple Thursdays although shoppers can purchase good gifts on sale at
times. My husband was not a shopper and
cared nothing about finding “good deals.”
But he did excel in gift-giving that comes from the heart.
The
occasions are rare when he experienced mission failure. But when he risked getting out of his areas
of expertise, he was in trouble. For
example, it would be foolish for me to have purchased a baseball bat for our
son and then our grandson. And so early
in our married life when my husband went to a clothing store to find a gift for
me, he should have known he was on shaky ground. He knew nothing about choosing stylish or
flattering clothing other than lingerie and ruffled umbrellas. He could have sought
assistance from more knowledgeable people, but he did just the opposite. He took a childhood friend equally style-challenged
and a student he befriended, funny, developmentally disabled and scary
looking if you didn’t know him. Think
Boo Radley on steroids. Once we took him
to a Cardinal baseball game and by its end, cleared out a whole section of fans
up high in Busch Stadium with Ron’s loud talking and bag popping.
Moving
on, now think of the ugliest polyester pants suit of the 70s era and try to
envision one even worse. Thank God the
three amigos’ selection did not fit and “sadly” had to be returned. The pants were innocent enough in solid
black. It was the top that stole the
show. It blended the black color with a
boring tan; this tan covered the bodice area to a fitted waist. From there it flared out into sections shaped
like little flags alternating black and tan from the waist to the top of the
legs. I would lack only a tall hat and baton
to lead a marching band with ugly school colors. I tried to be gracious but Jim never bought
me another piece of clothing again.
Perhaps
on our first Christmas as Mr. and Mrs., we each bought gifts that are telling
as I look back on them now. Unaware we had the same idea, we purchased nativity scenes, maybe even then recognizing
something genuine and important about the Christian faith we practiced in
different ways. Our marriage ceremony itself
demonstrated our experiences with both Catholic and Protestant ministers and
traditions. Now, as I write this, I see
the one nativity set, the standard manger with colored characters and animals
surrounding baby Jesus. One year, young
Henry set a wise man free as he crawled under the tree to get a closer look, a
man I had to individually place on his spot of dried glue again this year. Under every tree this set has taken its place
each Christmas.
The
other set was very different in appearance, occupying various locations in several
homes over the years. Each figure and
animal is separate, made to look like carved wood, no color just various grains. This year it is on top of the piano with a
new and wonderful addition. I recently
purchased a metal star outline raised up about ten inches on a little pole all covered
in tiny lights and mounted on a wooden block. With the simple touch of a switch, it all lights
up. I had not realized it would be perfect
behind Mary, Jesus and Joseph when I bought it.
One
definition of the word give is “to present voluntarily and without expecting
compensation; bestow.” From the ugly
pantsuit and nativity scenes through many years together, I think my husband
and I both sought to be giving people and bestow gifts of meaning and
value. Of course, it is the love in the
gift and behind its selection that makes such offerings a real art.
