Do we have one more gift to give?

It happens to so many of us at Christmas time. We have spent hours trying to remember everyone in our family and among our friends to whom we shall give a Christmas gift. The presents are wrapped and placed beneath the boughs of the Christmas tree. The sun is sinking into the Christmas Eve skyline; and then it hits us! What about...I forgot about...I didn't get a gift for.... And we rush out into the night to find that one more gift to give.

It's so embarrassing and nerve-racking. But so many people touch our lives that sometimes it is easy to overlook one name, to momentarily forget one face. For Christmas to be suddenly upon us and then realize that despite all our good intentions and efforts, there is still one more gift to give.

I don't mind the commercialization of Christmas. However crass the commercialization may become, the kindness, generosity and warm-heartedness of the tradition of gift-giving at Christmas time ever conquers any worldliness that may be cast upon it. And perhaps the reason for the vitality of the spirit of Christmas-gift-giving is the intentionality, the thoughtfulness, the carefulness with which the appropriate Christmas gift is chosen.

The late Peter Gomes once wrote: “The search and careful thought given to gifts to present is a rather spiritual pilgrimage. We rehearse lives and our relationship to those lives, imagining what gift will capture the spirit and the soul of the person and bring alive our relationship. That is the ideal. I cannot remember all my presents over the years, but I do remember the relationships.”

And what of our relationship to God; what might we give to God? The apostle Paul once asked, “Who has given a gift to God, to receive a gift in return?” But you know, there is one thing we can give to God that is not inherently God's—our love and gratitude for the birth of his Son.

When Victoria was Queen of the British Empire, she once visited the area of India called the Punjab. During her visit, she was told that a young prince of a minor province would like to make a presentation to her. “Show him in,” she said.

The young prince, really just a child, knelt before the queen. Then he stood, reached into his pocket, and held out a small cloth bag. The queen's attendant opened the bag. A gigantic, brilliant, polished diamond fell into his hand. The audience gasped, each one whispering to the other. Queen Victoria thanked the child-prince and promised him that his generous gift would become a permanent part of the royal treasury of crown jewels in London.

Many years later, the prince made a trip to England. He asked to see the aging Queen Victoria. She was reminded of the young man’s earlier gift and granted him an audience. After the proper introductions were made, the prince asked if he might see the diamond he had given to the queen many years before. It was brought from the tower and handed to him.

“Your Highness,” he said, “years ago when I was a small child, I gave this diamond to you. At that time I had no idea how much this stone was worth.” Those listening now suspected that the prince had come to retrieve the magnificent jewel. And now he held it in his hand.

But the prince continued, “Now I am a man, I know how much this stone is really worth. May I give it to you again—with all my heart?”

What about you and me; do we have one more gift to give?