Thursday, March 28, 2013

Gifts



Gifts
And God has reserved for his children the priceless gift of eternal life; it is kept in heaven for you, pure and undefiled, beyond the reach of change and decay. And God, in his mighty power, will make sure that you get there safely to receive it, because you are trusting him. It will be yours in that coming last day for all to see. (1 Peter 1:4,5)
The poor guy deserves our compassion. When you see him, don’t laugh. Don’t mock. Don’t turn away or shake your head. Just gently lead him to the nearest bench and help him sit down. Have pity on the man. He’s so fearful; so wide-eyed. He’s like a deer on the streets of Manhattan, or Tarzan walking through the urban jungle. He’s a beached whale, wondering how he got there and how he’ll get out.

So, who is this forlorn creature? This ashen-faced orphan? He is — please remove your hats out of respect — he’s the man in the women’s department looking for a gift. The season may be Christmas. The occasion may be her birthday, or maybe even their anniversary. Whatever the motive, he’s come out of hiding. Leaving behind his familiar habitat of sporting goods stores, food courts and the big-screen television in the appliance department, he ventures into the unknown world of women’s wear.

You’ll spot him easily, too. He’s the motionless one in the aisle. Were it not for the rings of perspiration under his arms, you’d think he was a mannequin. But he isn’t. He’s a man in a woman’s world, and he’s never seen so much underwear. At the Wal-Mart where he buys his, it’s all wrapped up and fits on one shelf. But here he is in a forest of lace. His father warned him about places like this, you know. Though the sign above says “linger-ie,” he knows he shouldn’t - linger. So, he moves on but he doesn’t know where to go. You see, not every man has been prepared for a moment like this.

My friend’s dad, on the other hand, saw the challenge of shopping for women as a rite of passage, right in there with birds and bees and tying neckties. He taught his son how to survive when they shopped. In fact, my friend reminisced about the day his dad sat him down and taught him two little words. “You see,” his dad said, “to get around in a foreign country, you need to know the language,” and my friend’s dad taught him the language of the ladies’ department. “There will come a time,” he said solemnly, “when a salesperson will offer to help you. At that moment, take a deep breath and say this phrase, ‘Estee Lauder.’” And, on every gift-giving occasion for years thereafter, my friend’s mom received two gifts from the two men in her life: Estee Lauder and   Estee Lauder.

Now, I didn’t use to have any particular fear of the women’s department, but then I met my wife. Sandy doesn’t like Estee Lauder. Though I could have told her that it made her smell womanly or motherly and all, she didn’t change her mind, and I’ve been in a bind ever since. For instance, last year for Christmas, I opted to buy her a dress. When the salesperson asked me Sandy’s size, I said I didn’t know. I honestly don’t. I know I can wrap my arms around her, and that her hand fits perfectly in mine. But her dress size? I never inquired because there’s certain questions a man doesn’t ask. The woman tried to be helpful. “How does she compare to me?” Now, I was taught to be polite to women, but I couldn’t be polite and answer that question because there was only one answer: “She’s much thinner.”

So, I stared at my feet, trying to think of a polite reply. After all, I’m a lawyer. Surely I could think of the right words to say, don’t you think? For instance, I considered being direct: “She’s less of you.” Or complimentary: “You’re more of a woman than she is.” Perhaps a hint would suffice? “I hear the store is downsizing.” Finally, I swallowed and said the only thing I knew to say, “Estee Lauder,” at which the saleslady pointed me in the direction of the perfume department. But I knew better than to go there.

So, I thought I would try the purses. I thought it would be easy. What could be complicated about selecting a tool for holding cards and money? I’ve used the same wallet for years. What could be so difficult about buying a purse? (Oh, naive soul that I am) You know, if you tell an attendant in the men’s department that you want a wallet, you’re taken to a small counter next to the cash register. And once there, your only decision is black or brown. However, tell an attendant in the ladies’ department that you want a purse, and you’re escorted to an entire room. A room full of shelves. Shelves with purses. Purses with price tags. Price tags so potent they should obviate the need for a purse altogether, right?

I was pondering this thought when the salesperson asked me some questions. Questions for which I had no answer. “What kind of purse would your wife like?” My blank look told her I was clueless, so she began listing the options: “Handbag? Shoulder bag? Glove bag? Backpack? Shoulder pack? Change purse?” Dizzied by the options, I had to sit down before I fainted. That didn’t stop her, however. Leaning over me, she continued, “Moneybag? Tote bag? Pocketbook? Satchel?”

“Satchel?” I perked up at the sound of a familiar word. Satchel Paige pitched in the major leagues. This must be an answer. I straightened my shoulders and said proudly, “Satchel.” But apparently she didn’t like my answer because she started to curse at me in some kind of foreign language. Forgive me for relating her vulgarity, but she was downright rude. I didn’t understand all she said, but I do know she called me a “Dooney Bird,” and threatened to “brighten” me with a spade that belonged to someone named Kate. And then she got totally crazy saying something about “Juicy,” and proceeded to slam my favorite musician, “Louie.” (And she had the nerve to call me “Kors!”) But when she laid claim to “our mawny,” I put my hand over the wallet in my hip pocket and said, “No, it’s my money.” And that was it. I got outta there as fast as I could. But as I left the room, I gave her a bit of her own medicine. “Estee Lauder!” I shouted, and ran as fast as I could. It wasn’t very Christian-like, I know.

Oh, the things we do to give gifts to those we love. But we don’t mind, do we? We would do it all over again. The fact is, we do it all again. Every Christmas, every birthday and every so often we find ourselves in foreign territory. Grownups in toy stores. Dads in teen stores. Wives in the hunting department, and husbands in the purse department. And not only do we enter unusual places, we do unusual things. We assemble bicycles at midnight. We hide wagons in the attic. One fellow I heard about rented a movie theater so he and his wife could see their wedding pictures on their anniversary.

And we’d do it all again. Having pressed the grapes of service, we drink life’s sweetest wine — the wine of giving. We are at our best when we are giving. In fact, we are most like God when we are giving.

Have you ever wondered why God gives so much? We could exist on far less, you know. He could’ve left the world flat and gray; we wouldn’t have known the difference. But he didn’t. He splashed orange in the sunrise and cast the sky in blue. And if you love to see geese as they gather, chances are you’ll see that too. Did he have to make the squirrel’s tail furry? Was he obliged to make the birds sing? And the funny way that chickens scurry or the majesty of thunder when it rings? Why give a flower fragrance? Why give food its taste? Could it be he loves to see that look upon your face? (Max Lucado)

If we give gifts to show our love, how much more would he? If we — flecked with foibles and gouged by greed — love to give gifts, how much more does God, pure and perfect God, enjoy giving gifts to us? Jesus asked, “If you hardhearted, sinful men know how to give good gifts to your children, won’t your Father in heaven even more certainly give good gifts to those who ask him for them?” (Matt. 7:1)

God’s gifts shed light on God’s heart, God’s good and generous heart. Jesus’ brother, James, tells us: “Every desirable and beneficial gift comes out of heaven. The gifts are rivers of light cascading down from the Father of Light.” (James 1:17) Every gift reveals God’s love … but no gift reveals his love more than the gifts of the cross. They came, not wrapped in paper, but in passion. Not placed around a tree, but a cross. And not covered with ribbons, but sprinkled with blood. The gifts of the cross. Much has been said about the gift of the cross itself, but what about the other gifts? What of the nails, the crown of thorns? The garments taken by the soldiers. The garments given for the burial. Have you taken time to open those gifts, too?

He didn’t have to give them, you know. The only act, the only required act for our salvation was the shedding of blood. Yet, he did much more. So much more. Search the scene of the cross, and what do you find? A wine-soaked sponge. A sign. Two crosses beside Christ. Divine gifts intended to stir that moment, that split second when your face will brighten, your eyes will widen and God will hear you whisper, “You did this for me?”
  And have you ever thought about why there were two crosses next to Christ? I mean, why not six, or ten, or a dozen or more? And if you’ve thought about that, have you then wondered why Jesus was in the center? Why not on the far right, or far left, instead? Could the crosses on either side of the savior symbolize God’s gift of choice? Perhaps, because the two thieves on either side had a lot in common, didn’t they? They were convicted by the same system; they were condemned to the same death; they were surrounded by the same crowd; and they were equally close to Jesus. In fact, they even began with the same sarcasm: “The two criminals also said cruel things to Jesus.” (Matt. 27:44) But then, one of the thieves changed – he repented.
  Now, a lot has been said about that penitent thief, but what about the other guy? Wouldn’t a personal invitation have been appropriate? Wouldn’t a word of persuasion been timely, especially given the circumstances? I mean, doesn’t the shepherd leave the ninety-nine and pursue the one, lost sheep? And doesn’t the housewife sweep the house until the lost coin is found? Yes, the shepherd pursues and the housewife sweeps. But the father of the prodigal? – the last “lost” parable in the trilogy. He does nothing. Why?
  Well, maybe it’s because the sheep was lost innocently, and the coin was lost irresponsibly. But the prodigal son? He left intentionally. The father had given the prodigal son the choice, and Jesus gave the criminals the same. And there are times in life when God sends nothing but silence as he honors us with the freedom to choose where we spend eternity. And what an honor, don’t you think? I mean, in so many areas of life we don’t really have a choice, do we? For instance, we didn’t choose our gender, our family, our race or our place of birth. And, let’s face it – sometimes that lack of choice really angers us. “It’s not fair,” we say. “It’s not fair that I was born in poverty, or that I sing poorly, or that I run so slowly.” All that changed, however, in the Garden of Eden. Man made a choice, and it wasn’t for God. And man is suffering the consequences of that choice. It’s called sin.
  Granted, it would’ve been nice if God had let us order life like ordering a meal at a smorgasbord. “I’ll take good health and a high IQ, please. But I’ll pass on the music skills. However, give me a great big portion of fast metabolism!” That would’ve been nice, but that’s not what happened. When it came to life on earth, you weren’t given a voice; you weren’t even given a vote. But when it comes to life after death, you’ve got a choice. Have we been given any greater privilege than that of choice? Not only does this privilege offset any injustice, but the gift of free will can offset any mistakes.

  Think about the thief who repented. We don’t know a lot about him, but we know this: he made some pretty bad choices in life. He chose the wrong crowd, the wrong morals, and the wrong behavior. But would you consider his life a waste? Is he spending eternity reaping the fruit of all the bad choices he made? No, just the opposite. He’s enjoying the fruit of the one good choice he made. In the end, all of his bad choices were redeemed by one good choice. And we’ve all made bad choices in life. We’ve chosen the wrong friends, the wrong car, the wrong way or maybe even the wrong career. We look back over the years of our life and say, “If only ….”  “If only I could make up for all those bad choices.” Well, you can. One good choice for eternity offsets a million bad ones made on earth – and the choice is yours to make. Because when one thief prayed, Jesus loved him enough to save him. And when the other mocked him, Jesus loved him enough to let him.

Could it be that the hill of the cross is actually rich with God’s gifts? Examine them. Unwrap these gifts of grace as if — or perhaps, indeed — for the first time. And as you touch them — as you feel the timber of the cross, and trace the braid of the crown and finger the point of the spike — pause and listen. Maybe you’ll hear him whisper:

I did it just for you.

Grace,
 Randy

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