My son’s eyes sparkled like sun kissed waters when he pulled a bright red package from under the tree. His little hands reverently held the wrapped box, its smashed bow wobbled, as if ready to lean over the edge and run away.
He looked my way.
Suddenly shy, my six-year-old hesitated, a worried brow replaced his eagerness. His eyes lost some of their shiny dance. Grasped between small hands of offering, he stretched it toward me, then sat back on his haunches. Behind him, lights from the tree twinkled, a kaleidoscope halo of color. His eyes never left mine, and I recognized how desperately he desired to please me with his present. I saw bare longing in his wide broody dark blue eyes. I felt their desire.
You see, he had bought it with his heart. Coins he’d spilled across his bed from his Star Wars canister transformed into the wrapped Christmas gift I held. But the real value came from a heart that loved. Desperate in that moment to please, he yearned for his gift to be exactly what his mommy had wanted all her life long.
I saw the hope on his little face and I knew that whatever lay hidden inside, was a treasure beyond anything I could ever deserve. I could not measure up as a mommy to the pureness of my child’s devotion. I felt flawed and imperfect, next to the treasure of such affection. Humbled and grateful beyond measure, I reached to embrace it, to pull his little boy warmth into the circle of my arms.
Christmas, marked by gifts we carefully and not-so-carefully hunt down, pick and choose, is full of expectation. Embellished with greens and reds, perfumed with cinnamon and spices its season delights some but saddens others. It excites and exhausts. Lights, songs and nativity figurines furnish atmosphere. We find the eyes of our hearts desperate to be swept into something better. We look with longing for something truly priceless and enduring.
It was a busy yet still night long ago when the barriers of time and heaven were shattered by the birth of a baby boy. The gift, neither merited nor deserved, was wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Gold, frankincense and myrrh, carried later by an entourage of stargazers, over miles of rough terrain, were laid at the feet of a child.
Did they too suddenly wonder, did we pick the right gift? Should we have chosen something different? Is this appropriate? Will He like our offerings?
Gold fit for a king, frankincense an incense used in worship, and myrrh prized for its health benefits were costly and precious.
Did their wealth and pomp melt, inadequate before the King of Kings? Did they suddenly feel unworthy as they looked into the child eyes of the Son of God? Did the Majesty of a humble boy make them small?
“And when they had come into the house, they saw the young Child with Mary His mother, and fell down and worshiped Him. And when they had opened their treasures, they presented gifts to Him: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.” Matthew 2:11 NKJV
What greater treasure could they bestow than to fall down at the feet of the divine Christ and worship? The true gifts of the magi didn’t come because of the place they acquired them or the amount they spent. The glint of gold or fragrant scented air could never have equaled the response of their hearts. In an obscure village, to a child lacking world’s fame or prestige, they fell down and worshipped.
What greater treasure could the wise men bestow than to fall down at the feet of the divine Christ and worship?They shed themselves to pay homage to Someone greater.
I’m frantically checking off amazon lists and winging presents in a bit of a dither to 14 grandchildren, their parents, and my friends. At this point I can barely remember who got what, when it will arrive or the names of my children and grandchildren.
Like a Christmas Mary and Martha, magi and grandma, I’m far too wrapped up in gifts. I’m Christmas consumed and consumer. Much more needed is the treasure of a heart in awe of Immanuel, God with Us.
It’s the gift we waited for all our lives.
Honestly, I don’t remember what I unwrapped from my son that Christmas morning. But I won’t forget my son’s hopeful eyes those many years ago. I still remember their pleading as he stretched out his gift toward me. I can still feel his heart beating against mine.
Today I renew my resolve to bring the simple delight of a devoted, submitted worshipper to the feet of my Savior. I gather the gifts of my heart, wrapped in shabby coverings of sorrow and joy. These I lay before Him. They are priceless and enduring to Someone who loves me beyond measure.
In the mayhem of delivered boxes and gift-wrap, I sit back and smile. Jesus is delighted with my gift.
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