For children, Christmas can be magical or miserable. Either outcome has nothing to do with the true spirit of the holiday. I rarely gave the birth of a Savior much thought as the big day inched closer on the calendar.
Each year, there would be that all important gift that was a must if my Christmas angel was gonna get their wings. One year, it was a football helmet, which turned out to be about three sizes bigger than my head. Another year found me salivating over an electric train set. That was pretty awesome until I stepped on the train tracks while barefooted. That was the day I decided not to take the train.
Each Christmas was pretty much the same, as I dreamed up the perfect gift, which I often received, only to have reality greatly diminish the enjoyment of it. As I got older, I stopped shoving the clothes I got for Christmas into the proverbial fire place and started actually asking for the latest fads to adorn my insatiable appetite to be in the cool kids' club.
One of my first big orders to get me into this club was the Izod shirt, with that amazingly awesome alligator emblem on it. Midas must have stitched that bad boy on those shirts because they cost a fortune. The average price for a common shirt in the 70s was around 10 bucks, but these Izod trophies were flying off the shelves at 35 dollars a pop. Capitalism is a beautiful thing and it soon became an economic lesson for me.
My parents rightfully considered me insane for craving such a novelty, but I could get one if I worked for it. Eventually, I successfully obtained the shirt of my dreams. I secretly wanted to grab a neon Sharpie and circle that beloved gator so that no one would miss seeing it. Six months later, a mysterious hole showed up in the armpit of my cotton treasure chest and I'm certain that both my eyes and my wallet were crying tears of immeasurable remorse. Such is the material world.
The following year, I gave a much better speech outlining the perfect Christmas gift, which was again a shirt. This time, it was a Polo shirt, with that elegant and regal horse and rider on it. I described the shirt to my mother in breathtaking detail, including everything but the price. I knew she wouldn't mind making an investment into my future and fleeting happiness.
Christmas Day arrived and having sufficiently shaken every box, I dove into the one that made no sound at my inquiry. Sure enough, it was a shirt. As I puckered up to give the horseman a much deserved kiss, I saw only what appeared to be a branch stitched where the triumphant horse was supposed to be galloping his way towards the "in crowd."
In feigning appreciation that quickly faded, I asked my mother which part of horse, rider and polo did she not understand. She explained that she understood completely, which is why she got me a pullover shirt, which her generation called "polo" shirts.
After gently cursing her generation's concept of fine clothing, I tried the shirt on and was delighted to find that the shirt was too large, so I passed it on to the first person I could find who needed a shirt and didn't know the difference between a Polo and a pullover.
My Christmas pursuits turned out to be a lot like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates; you never know what you're going to get. Christmas was never meant to be about getting stuff. It's all about enjoying what you've already been given.
My selfish longings ended as they always will, in disappointment. We were created for better than fads and the status we imagine them to bring. Christmas is a reminder about why we are here, what makes us special and why we are loved.
Nothing in the Christmas story tells us that we deserve anything, but it tells us everything about why God chose to gift us with His best offering. He just wanted to. He delights in us because the very sight of us stirs love within His heart, because He has set His love upon us. The saying is true: the heart wants what the heart wants. I'm thankful that God's heart wants us, with each of our flaws sewn brightly as emblems upon our selfish hearts.
It isn't how He wanted things originally, but somehow He takes delight in turning us into His perfect masterpiece. It's really all about Him and what he can do in us.
Let's be reminded of this truth as we go through the madness of December, deliberately finding our joy in Who hung on a tree for us, rather than looking for it in the things we might find under one. Not even a pullover that's a wannabe Polo can take that kind of joy away.