"Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."
--Jeremiah 29:12-13
A few days ago, I was sitting here minding my own business. It had been a fairly typical day, reading, writing, catching up with Facebook friends. Time in prayer.
The house was fully bedecked still in its Christmas attire. Across the beam between the dining and living rooms, I always hang a series of small cross-stitched ornaments I have made over the years, each a remembrance of a pet or someone who has passed through our lives and moved on. Our foreign exchange student Jorge, for instance.
In the center of these ornaments hangs a white satin stocking, less than six inches tall, cuffed on the top with lace, a felt poinsettia adding a dash of color. It was a gift years upon years ago, from a friend.
But what matters is what is inside this white satin stocking:
"It wasn't that anyone had really been forgotten; no children had been slighted or made unhappy, and no adult had been left unremembered.
The presents had all been distributed and all the stockings were beautifully filled . . . all, that is, except one. One stocking that had never been hung up. It was the stocking intended for the Child of Bethlehem. Of all the people belonging at that Christmas fireside, only he had been left out of the festivities. This did not seem quite right, in as much as it was his birthday that was being celebrated.
"Since then, the little white stocking has been hung in a special place in our home. On Christmas Eve, after our special dinner, we gather in the living room. During this time, we reach into the stocking and pass out the papers that were placed there the year before-- the prayer for patience, the wish for a more civil tongue. Each person then writes a new gift for Jesus to be placed in the stocking." (E. J. Pinyur)
Out of habit, we hung this little sock every year. I would take the paper out, read it, sigh and tuck it back in. Fear of commitment? Perhaps.
Anyway, I am sitting here, minding my own business, when I see the white stocking float gently to the floor. Of all the things hanging up there, as I am sitting reflecting on the day, the week-- okay, as I am whining at God as usual-- this stocking grabs my attention.
And as I am again reading the words inside, I get it. I whine about what God is supposed to be doing for me, but when was the last time I stopped and really made a genuine offering of my whole self-- to God?
Smack. Good one, God. Nice smack upside the head. I can be so slow to get it.
What gift will you bring? What offering have you made to the Child this year? Gold, frankincense, myrrh-- all wonderful gifts for a King of this world. But for the Messiah?
How about your heart?
So, did you write out your gift and tuck it deep inside the toe, where it will await its discovery by you next year? And where you can then contemplate . . . did I really mean it?
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