[Faith-talk] Good Night Message for Saturday, December 22 2012

[Paul]

Well, folks, it's that time again, the time to prepare our hearts and minds to corporately worship our Lord on His day tomorrow, at least for us in North America and perhaps in Europe or the UK.  For me this is a special time, more so in my present church than in my previous one.  However we worship, I pray that the Lord will minister to all our hearts and minds tomorrow.

Barbara Felts Bess, an author from Orlando FL, has today's short Christmas story entitled "A Gift to Remember," rendered as follows:

One Michigan Christmas nearly 50 years ago will stay with me for the rest of my life.  Snow covered the ground in a blanket of white.  Excitement was in the air.  In my second-grade class at the Scotch School, there was a buzz about the party and exchange of gifts on the last day before the holidays.

We had been making preparations for weeks.  Our room was decorated with paper snowmen and angels, Santas and reindeer.  There were handmade snowflakes tacked to the walls and stars hanging by colored yarn from the ceiling. Red and green garlands looped across the top of the blackboard.

My class was the usual mix of kids, but one stood out. Her name was Kristy. She came to school in frayed dresses and rundown shoes. Her hair was never combed all the way, and we often noticed dirt on her legs.  "Doesn't she take a bath?" we whispered.  But Kristy didn't make excuses about her appearance. She was also friendly. She seemed completely accepting of herself.

Each of us brought a gift to the Christmas party.  Boys gave to boys, girls to girls.  We put our gifts on the wide ledge of our room's bay windows, each box wrapped in fancy paper and tied with a bow. One gift stood out, just like the girl who had placed it on the window ledge. It was cylindrical. The paper was ripped at one end and the narrow ribbon was frayed. Kristy noticed my horrified expression. "It's a good present," she insisted. "The wrapping's torn, that's all."

The morning crawled by. After lunch and recess we trooped back to our room, eager for the festivities. We squirmed in our seats as our teacher walked up and down the rows of the desks. She held two hats. One contained numbers for the boys, and the other for us girls. The teacher had put corresponding numbers on the presents.  A number was drawn, the student walked to the tantalizing pile, found the correct package and returned to his or her desk. No gift was opened until everybody had one.

When my turn came, I reached into the hat. Many beautiful wrapped gifts still lay on the window ledge. I hoped to put my fingers on the precious scrap of paper that would entitle me to the grandest present of all. Here goes, I thought, and drew a number. Then I went to match it on the window ledge. "Oh, no," I sighed.  It was Kristy's gift.  My classmates chuckled.

"I think you'll like it," Kristy said.  At last all the packages had been claimed. Our teacher said it was time to open them.  Most of the kids ripped off the wrappings with gusto, but I removed the ribbon and torn paper as slowly as I could. I felt Kristy's eyes on me. I just knew it was a terrible gift, something no one would want for Christmas. But what would I say? I didn't want to hurt Kristy's feelings.

When I finished unwrapping the gift, I couldn't have been more surprised. It wasn't terrible at all! Inside, rolled into a cylinder, were two of my favorite things in the whole world: a coloring book and a dot-to-dot. I looked at Kristy. "This is a very good present," I said. Kristy couldn't have known how much I'd like her present. She certainly couldn't have known that I would be the one to receive it. Could she?

"Thank you," I said. Kristy grinned. For once I didn't see her old clothes and messy hair. I saw a friendly girl who had given me the perfect gift.

I don't remember anything else I received that Christmas in 1958. My family moved away the next year, and I never saw Kristy again. We hadn't become best friends, but I reached an understanding because of her. The outside of a person, or the wrapping on a gift, isn't what's important. It's what's inside that counts.

I think we blind people can relate to Kristy and Barbara. We may not look "correct" to sighted people, but our voices and emails tell an entirely different story.  Thankfully, if any of us individually have good rapport with sighted people, that's fine.  But among ourselves sometimes we can let our hair down and really express what's on our hearts without fear of criticism, or much of it anyway.

And now may the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob just keep us safe, individually and collectively, throughout this night or day and especially in these last days in which we live.  Your Christian friend and brother, Paul