The Gift in You.

My love language is gifts. 

I love giving them, receiving them, watching others give and receive them, watching YouTube videos of people opening them. I. Love. Gifts. 

I love going and getting the mail, everyday. I open the credit card offers, not because I want 0% interest for 12 whole months (we don't own a credit card, thanks, Dave Ramsey), but because I love the sound of ripping open an envelope. (I genuinely am completely sad if we don't get mail one day. Like, every Sunday.)

If I plan a surprise for someone, I get the nervous giggles 20 seconds before the surprise is revealed. I stinking love it. I once tried to plan my own surprise party. Definitely, not kidding. Because as much as I love surprises, I also love to PLAN them, so I thought maybe I could just help plan my surprise 16th birthday party. My mother thought I had lost it. She finally convinced me that I wasn't getting ANY birthday party, but just having a few friends over. Then, she pulled the mother-of-all-surprises. She had my best friend from Arkansas show up for it, as well as, my grandma from Iowa. It was HUGE. She had my 3 best friends blind fold me, and drive me around the country side to deter me from knowing about ANY of it. By the end of the car ride, they had convinced me I was getting a giraffe, and that that's why I needed to get out of the car onto one of their backs, so they could hoist me onto said giraffe.

(Really, it was just to carry me from the car to my dad's concrete shop floor, without having me walk across the gravel. Because if I squished the tiny pebbles underneath my feet, I'd instantly know I was back at my house.)

Because something else about me, I'm a full fledge ninja. Not really, but close. Pulling off a surprise on me is next to impossible, because I figure it out. I put pieces together, and end up figuring it all out. 

This year, for my birthday, my husband and a really close friend pulled off a BEAUTIFUL surprise party. The day of the event, however, my husband got flustered, because the plan wasn't working exactly how he thought, and he almost spilled the beans.

"You know what, forget it, I'm just going to tell you-"

"You will tell me nothing, Mark Dominguez! I know you don't like surprises, especially if your plans start crumbling, but I do! I know we're going to Noodles, but I know nothing else, and I won't allow you to ruin your surprise to me. I love you, and surprises, too much to let you do that!"

And with the crossing of my arms, and me stamping my foot in protest, he looked at me bewildered, eyebrows furrowed, took a deep breath, and cracked a small smile. 

"Oh you're not going to let me ruin MY surprise to you, huh?" He said, teasing. 

"I will not. I love you, and will see you at 7 o'clock." I said firmly with my jaw set.

He chuckled, and pretended to set his jaw just as firm. He then poked me in the side, to make me laugh, and to make me stop being serious.

"Fair enough. I'll see you at 7."

It ended up being a beautiful night.

My son Daylon, has a love for gifts, surprises, and anything else involved with those two categories. At the birthday parties, he's the one peering in the bag, before the kid opens his/her present, exclaiming "YOU GOT A TONKA TRUCK! HOW COOL!" (Whoops.) 

This year for Christmas, we had the 4 older ones draw names for presents. We gave them a budget of $10, and then Mark and I split up in Target, and walked every.single. Toy aisle. (Twice) I had with me, my oldest, Khai, and my youngest, Edyn. We set out to pick up a present for Daylon, and for Asher. The Lego aisle won, and pretty soon, I had all of his options laid out in the aisle, so he could pick the perfect one. He picked up a box with a little submarine man that you could build, and looked at it longingly. 

"Man, this is the coolest one. I wish I could get it!"

"Well, don't wish, buddy. Why don't you get it for Day, and then maybe he'll share, and let you play with it, after awhile." 

"Yeah, he's really going to like this one, Momma."

So the choice had been made. 

We met up, briefly, with the other cart crew, and checked in. Then we separated, checked out, and headed home. One day, I pulled each of them aside, separately. I let them cut the wrapping paper, place the chunks of tape on the paper, and write names on the packages. I smiled while Khai wrote "To Daylon, Love Khai.", and smiled again when Daylon wrote "To Khai, Love Daylon". The night before I let them wrap, I panicked, I thought I accidentally grabbed two of the exact same Lego boxes (the submarine one). Then, I brought Mark in, and we both realized our two oldest picked the exact same gift for each other. I melted, instantly. And for sure cried. I was completely amazed by the love two brothers have for each other. 

So as I watched them ooh and ahh at the gifts they were GIVING, right before they wrapped them, I was overjoyed at the thought of them RECEIVING said gifts.

It came time to open them. And I'll just let you enjoy a snippet of that beautiful moment:

Note: the bottom right picture. My gift lover, and his face after he *thought* he accidentally opened his brother's present. Sheer panic. Then after explanations from Momma and Papa that they picked the same gift for EACH OTHER:

Seriously, this kid loves gifts. You'll notice Khai's face changed maybe once compared to Day's 876 face changes. If Khai is quiet and pensive, it's when he's most excited. I love the differences in their personalities.

I love Christmas. The lights, the songs, the smiles. I love that every other song, greeting card, and holiday movie is about Him. That baby that changed everything. In between those songs, are songs about Santa, but you and I both know the true reason we celebrate. It wasn't about Rudolph, or sugar cookies, or presents. It was about a baby. A baby that was sent here, and even against all the fiery darts Satan tried throwing at him from birth to His death,He still fulfilled God's calling: that every man, woman, and child would have the opportunity to not just live here on earth, but to live forever. 

But maybe you're a skeptic. Maybe you prefer the overweight Grandpa character in a big red suit, because it's tangible. You can see it, therefore you can believe in it. Maybe this lullaby about a baby was cute when you were a kid, but now that you're grown, you know a baby can't save you. Babies are fragile, dependent on too much, to save you. 

And you know what? You're right. A baby can't save you.

But a grown man can. A grown man that died. He can save you. 

I think the thing people miss most about the Christmas Gift is its not just about a baby. It's not just about 3 wise men, and the star they followed. 

It's about the gift in your heart. 

A baby was born. The gift in his heart was to trust God to keep it beating, to grow up, to die, and to come back.

The wise men's gift in their hearts were to march on. To press forward. To travel great distances and to trust God that this star wasn't mere happenstance.

The gift in my heart is to smile at people, to encourage with words, to pray for people, and to trust that God is real. To trust that He sees me, loves me, and is pleased with what I'm doing here on earth.

That trust wasn't always there. I just KNEW I had finally racked up too many sins to be worthy to be called His. There was no trust, half-hearted love, and mediocre joy. I was damaged goods. Things changed when I started desiring what Mark had. He trusted, loved and was joyful, only because of the awesome power of God.

I wanted that. But couldn't grasp it, so thought it was unattainable.

That's the funny thing about You trusting God. It could take you the better part of your life to do it, but really? It's been in your heart all along. It just took some stirring. Like a fireplace full of ashes, if you dig through them, breath air on them, slowly but surely, you'll see the tiniest ember that can reignite a flame, to burn a mighty piece of oak.

 That's us. 

He digs, and digs, and digs. He searches your innermost being to find that one word, thought, song, or image  that sparks you. That reels you back to a different time, before all the baggage you've attained, when you loved unconditionally, and trusted wholly. And then He breathes that life back into you. Gently, at first, like a calm fall wind, then with more purpose, more strength. He breathes life into you, until you can burn on your own. He places tiny burdens on your heart of things that aren't pleasing to Him, and things He loves most about His creation. Like that, of kindling. And when the flame in your heart is stronger, standing on its own, believing, trusting, loving, He places His greatest joys in your heart, to give you the strength to march against His greatest sorrows. So that ultimately, from you, people will feel warmth. They'll feel His love.

That's why I love gifts so much. They make me feel warm and fuzzy. Just like the story of that special baby. Just like the story of another one of His creations, you, fulfilling His purpose, and emulating love, joy, and warmth. 

I pray for you. If you desire to trust Him, but are fearful He won't really exist, just like Santa, remember this:

Like oxygen, you can't see it, but you need it. You can't touch it, but it touches you. You can't get rid of it, or attain exponentially more than someone else. We all get the same gift. 

Life. 

Everlasting life.

Praying your realization of His love, and gift He put in your heart, and everyone's hearts, will give you warmth and joy, like this picture gives me:

We give, and we receive the same gift.

What Good News.

Praying an amazing Christmas over you, and yours, this year.