The Simplest
of Gifts
Let’s
play Let’s Pretend – after all, we are headed toward Christmas, and what better
time than now to pretend, no matter our ages.
You
go and grab the coffee or warm egg nog and I’ll tell you a story.
We’re
going back in time – way back. Feel the
shiver in your bones? Feel the wind
blowing cold and icy chills up your spine?
It’s cold. Colder than cold. And that is how our story begins.
See
that house over there, the brown one with the broken shutter? Listen.
And
as we listen, we hear …
“Joshua. It’s time to get up.”
The
little bundle named Joshua didn’t budge.
“Joshua. I said get up. You have got to get out of this house and
bring us some money.”
Still
no movement.
And
with a swift whack on the back side, Joshua felt the broom land where it was
intended. And he stirred … and yawned.
“Well,
well, Mr. Joshua. So, you finally
decided to rise from the dead, did you?”
He
groaned, and yawned again.
“Now
get up and get moving. The day is moving
on without you.”
“What’s
for breakfast” Joshua asked.
“Breakfast? Are you crazy? What’s for breakfast, he says.”
The
mother paused, laughed a sarcastic snicker and replied, “The same thing you had
yesterday and the day before that. “Now
you git before I really take this broom to you, and I don’t mean the soft
end. You hear me.”
And
so, Josh began to move. He didn’t have
to get dressed, for he was already dresses, such as it was, for he slept in his
clothes. He and his Mom lived on what you
might call the poor side of their village.
As
he was getting ready to leave, his Mom called out, “Don’t forget that thing you
hang around your neck, and go make some money.
We need to eat tonight.”
And
out the door he went.
He
went from door to door trying to beg or plead for a handout, and none were
offered. He used “that thing” his mother
referred to, and no one seemed to appreciate what he could do with it.
Time
passed, the hours drifted by. It was a
cold winter’s day and he felt the chill in every bone in his body.
Along
about nine at night, if there was such a thing as clocks in those days, he
spotted a group of men shuffling along, headed down a narrow path toward a
barn. They were a jovial lot, laughing,
and in a good mood and so he thought he would follow them for sport.
They
approached the barn, went in … he stayed outside. After all, he was an intruder.
He
turned to leave, and for the first time noticed a bright light overhead, and it
seemed to settle right over the barn where that motley tangle of men had just
entered.
Just
as he made a move back to the barn, he was brushed off the trail by an abrupt
man leading a camel. What followed was a
whole parade of people and three regal looking men dressed in finery. What was this all about, he wondered.
The
kingly-looking men entered the barn, their attendants cared for their animals,
and he stood outside looking on.
From
somewhere deep inside he found his courage and entered the barn. His eyes first landed on the wise me, whose
backs were to him. They were just
beginning to stand and he could see they were laying gifts – expensive-looking
gifts, on the floor. And as they moved
further away, he saw a man and a woman, and then he heard the soft cooing of a
baby. Why, the baby was lying in a feed
trough. And the kings had given these
gifts to the parents of this baby.
And
here he stood, dressed in his everyday rags, with no money, no finery …
nothing. Was he supposed to bow as the
king-types had done? Was he supposed to
go and buy a gift, without money even, for this family?
Call
it inspiration. Call it impulse. Call it
And
he played his drum … softly, simply.
Pa-rum-pu-pum-pum. He paused, and the lady,
the mother, smiled and nodded as if to say … “play some more son.”
And
he did. He played. The kingly men clapped, and smiled, the
shepherds looked in the windows and the open door, and the baby quieted and
listened, and waved his tiny fist in the air as if directing and saying “more,
more.”
His
gift … a simple drum solo. It was all he
could offer. It was enough.
This
story, as you have figured out, is a play on the song Little Drummer Boy. It is my own creation and a reminder for all
of us that our gifts given to the Christ of Christmas matter, regardless of
their size, their cost, or their worth.
When given from the heart, our gifts are acceptable.
One
of my gifts is writing, and so I give it.
Others make beautiful music, or delicious pies, and some are able to
give large sums of money to help the needy.
Some build things or make clothes.
Regardless of the ‘way’ you choose to give this Christmas, the important
ingredient is that we give from a heart of love, with a kind spirit, and we
give willingly of what we have. That is,
perhaps, giving as unto God himself.
Merry
Christmas.
Hope Encouragement Inspiration
