Gifts

Christmas has always felt like a time of possibility to me. As a kid, the excitement leading up to Christmas was about more than just getting new things. It was about who I would become when I had those new things. I couldn’t have explained it to you then, but somehow I expected to find myself transformed each Christmas morning. Somewhere in my heart, I believed that the Katie who owned whatever thing I desperately wanted that year would be a more satisfying, exciting and desirable person to be. And somehow, no matter how genuinely delighted I was to receive each gift, the glow of newness would fade away. And the next morning I’d wake up to discover myself the same person as before.

It’s a feeling that I have experienced in other ways as well. Somehow my heart is incredibly good at convincing me that various things and experiences are what I need to transform me. That a gift will make me new. But maybe the reason that this is so easy to believe is that, as with all the best lies, there is a fragment of truth twisted up in it. Because there is a gift, given to me one Christmas, that truly does have the power to transform me, to change me into a new person. But that gift is not anything that I ever found beautifully wrapped under a fragrant pine tree. He came painfully, messy and crying. He died painfully, messy and broken. And he takes away my pain, my mess and my tears. He transforms my brokenness into wholeness. Still, my heart would convince me that the joy of this gift could fade as well. But I know the truth, that whatever else my heart cries out for, Jesus is the only gift that will ever satisfy the longing for newness and transformation that we all experience.