Christmas Gift

My family has handed down a Christmas tradition over the years: "Christmas Gift." During the Christmas season, as a person enters the house, the first one to say the words, "Christmas Gift" is supposed to get a gift from the good people of the house.

I can still recall my late father sitting in his favorite chair watching his football games (what else!) and dryly saying those words. I was grown and with a family of my own. The phrase never failed to elicit smiles and snickers. I don't recall anyone ever getting anything out of it, by the way.

I don't know where this tradition comes from. I do know that it seems very few know about it. I tried it on my congregation just before Christmas this year. As I entered the pulpit, I said, "Christmas Gift! (Real spiritual, I know.) Very few people seemed to get what I was saying. In fact, I asked for a show of hands as to who actually knew about this "tradition." One hand of a lady in choir was all I saw. Anyway, it is a fine and pleasant memory for me.

Now I have another.

It has been a Christmas tradition of mine since 1986, begun at my first church out of seminary in South Texas to go for a run Christmas Day. It was on that date I committed to become a lifelong runner. In part, it may have been due to overeating on Christmas Day. Over the years, my running has slowed down to a jog. Soon, it will probably sag to a slow walk. I hate to think of how much further it could go.

Anyway, this past Christmas, I went to the High School track for my traditional jog. After covering my three miles, I arrived at home to find my youngest son meeting me in the garage with a big grin and a package in his hand. He had his own Christmas gift for me.

He was so proud as he handed it to me. As I walked into the house, I opened the box. There it was.

The instruction manual for my new popcorn popper.

My wife had given me an old fashioned popcorn popper, complete with the bowl in the middle. After I opened it, the instruction manual was not to be found. I went online and found one. Despite the shortcoming, I was able to make fairly decent popcorn after all.

But I missed the manual.

My son had found it, put it in a box, and gave it to me as a gift with a grin.

I was glad to have the instruction book, but I was touched by his childish magic marker scrawl on the box and his resourcefulness in giving me the gift. I was so touched that I took a picture of his gift box and now have blogged about it.

This year, his gift of joy was my favorite.

Christmas Gift.