I promised myself this year that I'd write 25 stories/reflections about Christmas 25 days before December 25. So did I manage to fulfill that objective? Not at all. So before Christmas Day dawns upon me like the morning sun, I will write a little something about why this season is the most-loved and the most anticipated by almost everybody.
Ha! Thanks to the faulty Internet last night, Christmas morning did dawn on me without getting to write anything.
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Gifts are particularly common come Christmas. Two days ago, I dropped by the local supermarket to pick up some basil leaves. On my way out, I passed by two girls who were trying to decide which trinkets to get for their office Kris Kringle. Today, I went to the mall to buy some blank CDs and as I made my way to the parking garage, I espied a little girl in a pink dress crossing the street on board her brand new pink bicycle, training wheels and all. I could tell it was brand new because a red Robinson's Place label was still stuck to one of the wheels. Her father carefully held the handbars and the bicycle seat as the girl pedaled, her face shining with unmistakeable joy. Inside the mall, I walked past a family of three - a father, a mother and their young son - having merienda in a fast food chain. The boy was bringing brand new toys from a plastic bag: a set of action figures and a wind-up train which sped in its own circular set of rails. His parents watched as the boy arranged the toys on the table, next to his unfinished packet of French fries, and laughed as the train went whirring round and round until it had to be wound again.
There is something about gifts which can give a bad day a quick jolt and a shove to make it do a complete 180. I think anyone who abhors receiving gifts has got a dozen loose screws and needs a lobotomy. Through the years, I've received a lot of gifts come Christmas and I do have some favorites which stand out from the pack like a gayly wrapped present. For instance, when I was a child, my family and I would celebrate Christmas in my grandparents' house in Mangatarem, Pangasinan. Come Christmas Eve, Mamang, my late grandmother, would give me one of Papang's old socks and tell me to hang them on the window for Santa to fill with goodies. In the morning, I'd wake up to find the sock stuffed to the seams and I'd run to Mamang to show her all the chocolates and candies I got and she'd excitedly watch me count my stash even if she knew very well what was inside.
This year, my mom gave me Mara Jade, my new laptop (trust the geek to give the laptop a geek name), just so I could now retire Lei (my 8-year old notebook) which was, in some instances, trusty and in other instances would just turn itself off for no apparent reason. I was so happy that when I got home, I showed her Mara Jade and gave her a quick run-down of all its features, muttering about how "awesome" it was and how thankful I was for getting it for Christmas.
My favorite Christmas gift by far, however, was the one my sister and I also got from "Santa," 19 years ago. I had been pining for a dog and I had written "Santa" about it for the past two years but he kept giving me other things. On that particular Christmas Eve 19 years ago, my mom ran into the room my sister and I used to share and told us Santa was in the front yard with our presents. My sister and I raced to the front yard and found no Santa there. My mom then said Santa was in the kitchen and, because we were young, stupid and gullible, we ran out and found nobody except my mom jumping and pointing to the sky, telling us to wave goodbye because Santa was in a hurry and that if we looked closer, we would get to see his sleigh flying across the night sky. Disappointed that we didn't get to see Santa (and I was wondering how someone that fat could move so fast), my sister and I ambled back to the living room and were surprised to find two baskets sitting under the Christmas tree. I remember hiding behind a chair as my sister, who was always the more adventurous one, slowly walked toward the basket with the green ribbon, struggled with the wicker lid, pulled it out and then found herself greeted by a tiny, furry black head which popped out of the basket. I opened my basket (the one with a red ribbon) and found an all-white puppy cowering inside, a Spitz-Pomeranian I later named Sandy.
It would take me years later to realize that the red glow I was pointing to in the sky as Santa's sleigh was a signal light in a communications antenna and that, yes, my mom indeed had a future as an actress. What made my parents spill the truth beans about Santa, you may ask. Well, when I was 10, I got the toy catalogue for Strawberry Shortcake and I wrote Santa one letter after another, asking him if I could have the Betty Crocker baking oven or the electric-operated ice cream maker. Apparently the toys were a little too pricey and my parents had to disappoint me lest I burned a hole in their bank accounts.
As much as I love receiving gifts, I particularly enjoy giving them as well. Actually, I look forward to Christmas not because of the gifts I'm bound to get but because of the gifts I'll be giving to family and friends. I love to watch the recipients open their wrapped presents and wait for their reactions once the ribbons are off and the boxes are opened. I love to watch their faces light up like a light bulb - like the grin my dad gives when I get him a shirt meant for yuppies, the expression on my mom's face when I give her something she has always wanted to get herself or the amused look my grandfather gives me when I give him something funny. After all, I spend the entire year keeping my ears wide open, hoping to catch a drift of what they need or want. I love watching kids rip candy wrappers apart with huge grins in their faces. I enjoy watching eyes, fingers and smiles in endless combinations whether or not the "thank you's" come afterwards.
I guess it has to do with the fact that I've been in the receiving end a little bit too much so I need not just to pay back but also, as the movie goes, pay it forward. The gifts come from deep within a very, very, very thankful person.
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Gold, frankincense and and myrrh were the gifts the three wise men brought for the child Jesus. These were gifts fit for a king. Or so they thought.
Come to think of it, I don't think there is a gift on this planet which would be worthy to lay down on the feet of the King. I was sitting alone in my room, in the quietness of the night, thinking about this. What gift would be fit for my King? Actually, there is none because everything falls short of His glory and majesty. He created all things, all things were made by Him and for Him. Yet God chooses to accept whatever we offer at His feet as long as it is given with a pure heart. Abel's sheep was the equivalent of the magi's gifts. The poor widow's few pennies were as valuable to him as a rich man's gold coins. The shepherds who were the infant Jesus' first visitors did not carry with them any gifts of material value but the worship and adoration they brought with them were more than enough.
Aside from the fact that they were bearing gifts which were of no compare to the King's majesty, I am not sure exactly how long it took for the magi to realize that they were actually not the gift givers. They, along with the rest of mankind, were the recipients of the ultimate gift of sacrifice - a babe born out of God's immense love.
Merry Christmas everyone!
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