Best Christmas Gift Ever

As I think back, one Christmas morning was different.  Too large to fit under the tree, there was a single large gift standing in front of our family Christmas tree with a tag indicating that it was just for me.  That was remarkable in itself.  My brother and I almost always received identical gifts, but not this time.  There was only one massive gift in our small front room.

I knew what it was before I opened it.  From its size and shape it could only be one thing.  My very own bicycle.  My first two-wheeler.  It seemed just too good to be true.

I unwrapped the bike with unbridled glee.  It was the most beautiful bicycle I had ever seen.  It was shiny black and had flame decals on the front and back fenders.  The bike was just my size, smaller than an adult model.  The training wheels had already been installed.  It was ready to go.

It was not a snowy Christmas in Detroit that year, so I rode that bike for the first time dressed in a snow suit, knit cap and mittens.  At that tender age, I could imagine no better day in my life.  It was a wonderful Christmas.

There is actually a little more to the story.  What I didn’t know that day was that bicycle represented a great deal of effort and love.  My parents knew that I wanted a bicycle more than anything and even though they didn’t have enough money to buy one, they made it happen.  They bought that little bike used.  My dad sanded down the frame, repainted it in glossy black, applied the decals and greased the chain, all in a neighbor’s garage.  Christmas Eve, after Brant and I were safely asleep, Dad retrieved the bike from the neighbor’s house and he and Mom wrapped it up.

I don’t think that I was ever supposed to know the rest of the story.  I found out years later, when that bike, which had been so special to me, was long gone.  The memory of that little black bike became all the more important to me.

I cannot imagine celebrating Christmas today without knowing the rest of the story.  Oh, the story of the baby in the manger, the shepherds in the field and the wise men with their gifts still moves me.  Deeply.  Profoundly.  Advent prepares me to the point of being desperate to hear the Christmas Gospel proclaimed.  But, it’s the rest of the story that really gets me.  It turns out that the baby Jesus is a gift that seems just too good to be true.  Mary and Joseph may have thought that Jesus was theirs.  If they had looked closely, there was a gift tag addressed to me.  And you.  And the whole world.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life” (John 3:16).  What an incredible gift.  We dare not forget the rest of the story.  That precious baby born in Bethlehem so long ago, was born for us to die for us.

For me, every Christmas is wonderful.  I can imagine no better day.  I join Bishop Gary Wollersheim and the entire synod staff in wishing you a very Merry Christmas.  --JC