ON SHOTGUNS, BOWLING BALLS, AND CHRISTMAS

      Well, its Christmas time and I'm a little nostalgic again. I think about the Christmases my brothers and I had when we were growing up. They were traditional and festive. Mom and dad tried their best to give us a good Christmas and mother made sure that the dollar amount spent on each one of us was exactly the same. Dad was around more on Christmas... as we gathered with family and friends to celebrate and open our gifts. Since we weren't a religious family, Christmas, for us, was a time when we gathered together, had fun, and opened gifts.
      There was more drinking than there needed to be, but Christmases were good for my brothers and me because we always got more than enough presents. As a kid, I looked forward to Christmas, but I was concerned that things were "just right." It was up to me to give just the right gifts to others, and I had lot of anxiety about receiving  just the right gifts myself. Even as we gathered to celebrate, I had a secret fear that I would disappoint someone... or be disappointed myself... which brings me to the Christmas when I received a shotgun instead of the bowling ball. I was bowling in league at the time and I wanted my own bowling ball. My father, on the other hand, wanted me to join him and my brothers on their hunting adventures. He didn't take many days off, but sometimes, he would get up extremely early and hunt pheasants in a farm field... or take a day trip to his duck blind. I'm sure that he saw hunting as a right of passage and as something we could bond around because he wasn't into sports... but I hated hunting and my heart was set on a bowling ball.
      I made my wishes known for weeks before Christmas, but come Christmas morning, there it was- a brand new shotgun. My number one, central gift, was a stupid shotgun... and I was devastated! My Christmas was ruined because it didn't meet my expectations. It didn't play out as I had envisioned it and I was heartbroken. I was fixated on what I wanted and I couldn't appreciate what I had actually been given. Christmas, it seems, was all about me. I couldn't let go and celebrate the joy that others were experiencing. And I kept struggling to accept things as they were until I first believed! Yes, until I first believed. When I accepted that God had sent his Son to save my soul, I felt loved for the first time in my life. A peace that I had not known before came over me, and knowing that I had been accepted by grace... freed me to accept others. Now, I look forward to Christmas without anxiety because I am focused on Christ instead of myself. Indeed, once I had got out of the driver's seat and "let God," the ride became much more enjoyable, and I know that Christmas will be good because things are good when God's in charge!
      My brothers are gone now and I would give anything to see them at Christmas. Mom and dad are gone too, and it's been over 60 years since I received a shotgun as a present... but if I could do it over again, I would say, "Thank's for the gun, dad. It's beautiful. Do you have time to take us out shooting later this week?" Amen.