Take Back That Gift!

            Our firstborn wasn’t quite 3 years old the Christmas a dear friend presented her with a lovely, wrapped gift.

            Our daughter held the gift, stared at it a moment, then handed it back to the giver. “No bow!” she said. We shared a good laugh amidst that embarrassing moment.

            Would you believe this friend presented her gift to our daughter a second time? Yes. With a bow on top!

            This time it was accepted!

            People stand in long store lines after Christmas, waiting to return gifts for a multitude of reasons. “Too small, too big, already have one, don’t like this color, doesn’t work,” and the ultimate—just plain ol’ “don’t want it.”

             An unwanted gift? Hmm.

            My mind jumps to nearly 2 years after the birth of the Christ Child—when the magi came from the East to present the young Child with their gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

            Gold and frankincense? Lovely gifts honoring this Holy One.

            But myrrh???

            Good thing I wasn't the mother of Jesus! Had a wise man given my tot myrrh, I might've shoved it back at him and shouted, "Take back that gift!"

            Myrrh? Burial spice? An appropriate gift?

            But let me back up a bit. What about the strips of swaddling cloth Mary wrapped her newborn in at the time of His birth? As she wound those about Him, did she shed tears? After all weren’t these there in prep for the dead? Not an infant full of life?

            And what about the lambs that were swaddled, chosen to be sacrificed? Did her mind flash to an image of a lamb upon an altar? She’d been raised to practice Jewish ceremonial law. She knew what a Passover lamb was.

            And she knew she held the Ultimate Sacrifice—wrapped as one would be at burial.

… Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”  Luke 2:19 

            I've thought a lot about Mary's pondering ... so much so that I asked my husband to look up "ponder" in the original language and context of that Scripture. One definition read "conflict." Indeed, Mary must have wrestled, knowing her newborn came into the world to die.

            Of course, all of us eventually die, but how many mothers' thoughts go there while beholding their infant?

             Over the years, I've known a handful of women who received dooming news before their babies' births. They still yearned to hold their little ones but shed many tears, cradling while their hearts moaned lullabies in minor keys. They treasured each moment with a mourning love.

            Mary likely felt the way those moms did.  Hit with the realization that the infant she caressed, wrapped in burial cloths, would die. And when the magi came a long time later, she faced that again.

            So, she didn’t return the gift of myrrh but accepted it, knowing her son would need it. What an awful pondering for her and Jesus!

            Thirty-some years later they beheld each other from different vantage points at Calvary ... the moment they both dreaded yet accepted, knowing the will of The Father.

            Good thing Mary accepted that gift, and I’m grateful the Son of God did too. He rose again to give us all another gift—eternal life.

            I chose that gift when I asked Jesus into my life, and there's no taking that back! I'm His child for keeps. Hallelujah!

 

Man of sorrows what a name for the Son of God, who came

Ruined sinners to reclaim: Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Bearing shame and scoffing rude, in my place condemned he stood,

Sealed my pardon with his blood: Hallelujah, what a Savior!

Guilty, helpless, lost were we; blameless Lamb of God was he,

Sacrificed to set us free: Hallelujah! What a Savior!

 

(from Man of Sorrows by Philip P. Bliss, 1875, public domain)

 

#Christmas #Mary #Jesus #swaddlingcloths #magi #goldfrankincensemyrrh

#gift #sacrifice #LambofGod #Passoverlamb #ponder

Putting On Immortality

            About 2 weeks ago our church said good-bye to our pastor’s wife. Sheila suffered years with Parkinson’s and also pulmonary fibrosis. In her last year especially, her health nosedived, and her loving husband stepped into the position as her full-time caregiver.

            I didn’t know Sheila long, and I can’t even say I knew her well like others in the congregation did. I felt, though, like there was an empty spot in my heart when I heard she was in her last days and then went Home. We’d shared a bond.

            You see, it’s not always easy being a minister’s wife. Sheila had been for decades (as had I). Maybe that’s what first drew me to her—knowing there was someone sitting in that pew “over there” who knew the joys and trials of being the helpmeet to a man called of God.

            I don’t make friends as easily as I used to. But, hey, I thought I should at least reach out to this lady. I asked, at first being unsure who exactly was the pastor’s wife but having heard her name mentioned, “Are you Sheila?”

            She replied, “There are two Sheilas in the church. I have Parkinson’s.”

            I was a little surprised she shared the second part of that, but then I understood a tad why she was so soft-spoken, hesitated in her moves, and seemed partially frozen in her expressions. I decided right then I wanted this lady to know I was willing to be her friend.

            When spring of that first year arrived, Sheila invited me to come see her flowers. I went. At that point she needed her husband’s arm to walk their large backyard. Her honey helped her from plant to planting, while she filled me in on where those blossoms were from and how they were doing that year in comparison. We stopped while Pastor Ronnie took out his phone (camera) and clicked photos of the ones he knew she loved best. And I noted how gently he laid them against his hand while doing so. Just like he did when he cared for Sheila—his gentle, fragile flower.

            Pastor Ronnie helped her back to the deck, and he went off to do another job while Sheila and I sat and talked. That afternoon I learned a lot about this lady—both joys and sorrows and her trust in our sovereign God.

            The next very long talk we had took place in the hospital after she faced more physical challenges. I saw in this lady a quiet strength, a keen wit, an amazing sense of humor, and sometimes fears. But always honesty.

            When I was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis, it was Sheila I’d look to for the courage to go on. She already had that label, and I was actually amazed God placed two minister’s wives in a little town in a small church with the same disease. It seemed by design.

            As more time passed, Sheila’s needs became greater. Her husband first assisted her into church with her walker, then a wheelchair. It was a privileged to sit with her after morning services as Pastor Ronnie greeted congregants exiting the church. Those were special, precious moments with only a handful of minutes, but I’m so glad we shared them. And each of these times, Sheila quietly greeted me with, “Hello, friend.”

            But now she’s gone from this earth, and she’s put on immortality.

           “Put on immortality!” Wow! Just think about that! I have recently—more than ever before. Maybe because this year I’ve faced my own mortality.

            Each person who’s trusted Jesus as Lord and Savior, when they die, steps out of clay and becomes immortal. And think how that became possible! The Immortal One Himself stepped down from Heaven and put on mortality to be like us. To be flesh for a time so that He could be the sacrifice for us.

            This is at the core of Christmas. Jesus—the Babe in the manger—born to die. Yet He was King of Kings, our High Priest too.

          When the wise men came (up to 2 years later), they recognized this in the gifts they brought to present to Him. Gold—a gift fit for a king, frankincense—for holy recognition of a priest. Myrrh—the saddest “Christmas” gift ever, yet that which pointed to a fulfillment of prophecy. This royal, priestly Baby came to die. And for that to happen, He had to put on mortality.

      Dear Lord,

            How very special of You to welcome Sheila Home at this time of year when our thoughts are turned toward You and Your Birthday! And, although joy has turned to sadness for a time, in bidding this one farewell, we thank You for the gift of salvation You offered her and that she accepted that gift—and, in a very real way, carried immortality—You—within her heart and life until it was time to lay aside her body of clay.

           Thank you for Sheila’s lovely example to me and us all. She made a difference.

           This Christmas may we not forget the greatest Gift—You—and Your sacrifice in coming to rescue us. We, too, look forward to putting on immortality and living with You in Your perfect time.

            In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

 

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light;

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

 

For Christ is born of Mary; and, gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wond’ring love.

O morning stars, together proclaim the holy birth,

And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth.

 

How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is giv’n!

So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His heav’n.

No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

 

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin and enter in; be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas angels, the great glad tidings tell;

O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!

 

(from the Christmas carol O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM by Phillip Brooks, 1868, public domain)

 

#death #mortality #immortality #Christmas #Bethlehem #God #Jesus #friend

 

Photos: Flowers in remembrance & Aurora Fundamental Methodist Church—where Pastor Ronnie & his wife have served their Lord well, and where we said “see you later” to Sheila. (used with permission)