Great gifts often come out of the blue. Someone knows something about you, something small and secret perhaps, and their gift touches that part of you in a creative and imaginative way.
GIFT ONEMy father gave me a catcher's mitt for my 16th birthday even though a knee injury had forced me to move to shortstop a couple of years before.
My mom said, “Why d'you buy him a catcher's mitt? He's not a catcher anymore.”
“I know what I'm doing,” was all he said.
You cannot explain the beauty of a well-worn catcher's mitt. You either understand the joy of a hard-thrown ball popping into its thick leather, or you do not. I understood that joy and my dad knew it.
The best part of the gift was discovering how deeply my father knew me. That catcher's mitt sits in my office today, a very present reminder.
GIFT TWOIn the days when J. and I were engaged, she once answered the door of her apartment with a banana in her hand.
Understand that this woman hates bananas with a religious zeal. The smell of a banana makes her skin crawl, and one bite makes her gag.
She was in a very silly mood that night. She flung open the door and said, “This is how much I love you,” and took a huge bite out of the banana. Then she doubled over, giggling and gagging at the same time. I guess you could say she was "gaggling."
I laughed so hard that my shoulders shook, and I said, “You idiot” in a way that made it clear I was really saying, “You're so funny and I love you.”
She loved me enough to eat a banana, and she knew me well enough to know that I would appreciate a weird thing like that.
And I thought, “My life with this woman is going to be so much fun.”
GIFT THREERecently I received a wonderful gift from a total stranger. Reagan, also known as Sulaco, drew a picture of Real Live Preacher and sent it to me. Reagan has never seen me, but somehow he knows what I look like.
                                                        Reagan Lodge 2003            
That is absolutely my hair. Dead on. And I think I have that look in my eyes some Sunday nights after everyone has gone to bed, and I'm staying up because I don't want Monday to come.
And sometimes I cling to my cross and my bible when all else fails. Then I wonder why I waited so long to cling to them.
But what I like best are the fading legs. You see, I tend to lose sight of my own legs at times. Sometimes I arrive at church early, and out of nowhere I get the feeling that I haven't got a leg to stand on. My head swims, and I get a little panicky when I remember that I'm going to need to be sure of myself soon. Sure enough to stand and preach without being a liar.
I go to church early because sometimes it takes me three hours to be sure.
But I always do stand and preach. I always do. Somehow I am always standing when the people arrive. And if I am standing, then I must believe that somewhere down there in the mist of my legs and the myth of my strength is a very solid rock indeed.
Thank you Reagan. This gift was more than I deserve, but like Clint Eastwood and Jesus say, "Deserving's got nothing to do with it."
rlp

Bookmark/Search this post with:

  |    |    |    |    |    |    |    |    |    |    |