My offering

"Your stories, they are a gift. They were given only to you. You are the only one who could have experienced them the way that you did. You are the only one who can tell them the way you do. They were a gift, and it is your obligation to offer that back, to do what you can do with it and offer it back to the Lord." These aren't the exact words of a friend of mine, but this is how I remember a conversation with a fellow writer several weeks ago.

These words have rolled around in the gapingly open, empty void inside my head ever since.

These are my stories. I don't just have the option of telling them. I have an obligation. I do believe that to be true. That's how it feels to me, anyway. It also helps explain the power I feel when I do just that, when I record my experiences in writing, when I step back, out of the way, and let God take over.

Tonight I learned at Bible study something I already knew, but I connected to it in a whole new way. Christians often quote the part of the Scripture that says, "Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice." OK, I know that and try to do it. And I find myself getting all puffed up when I do it, feeling proud, feeling blessed and holy. But I think the most important part is next: "For this is your reasonable act of service." Oh. It's not going above and beyond. When I operate under the power of the gifts He has given me, when I am simply doing what I am good at, when I am using my abilities, both the ones that come naturally and the ones that I've worked hard to develop - I'm only doing what I'm supposed to do. I'm not making God proud of me. I'm not earn brownie points. No, I'm just doing my duty. It's no more impressive than a child not throwing their juice boxes on the floor. (Although in my household, that is something that would be impressive.)

So I'm putting these two ideas together, and this year for Christmas, Lord, I am giving you an offering. I am going to use what you have given me, the stories of my life, of my faith, and write them to give back to you. I don't care if anything comes from them. I don't care if there seems to be no purpose. I am simply going to move forward into the bare minimum category. By writing for you every day, maybe, hopefully, I will advance out of the bare minimum category into something more. But right now, I'm not even doing what I'm supposed to do. I'm not cleaning my room, doing the dishes, or making my bed, so to speak. Bare minimums. And if I want to find more, I have to first step into that. So here I go, stepping forward in faith, using what you've given me, asking you to accept this humble offering.

Putting away Christmas

Every year it’s the same. After a big day of too much food and lots of presents, we wade through the torn wrapping paper and mutilated bows, gathering up our loot and putting it away. We examine the gifts again, trying things on, looking for the right spots to display them. Sometimes the presents are much-loved and will be used daily; other times, small stocking stuffers (or well-meaning gifts that simply missed the mark) may be shoved into drawers and baskets, not to be unearthed until months later, if and when you decide to deep clean your room. That’s one way to know you have more than you need: you can put away the gifts and completely forget about them.

As I was gathering up the debris left over from the big day, I realized that I don’t want to put away Christmas this year. Don’t get me wrong. I’m already tired of the tree and the garland and the wreaths. I’ll be happy to see those go, whenever I muster up the energy to pack them away. But all through December, as I put up the decorations and made lists and ran into yet another store, I tried so hard to keep the focus on the reason for the season. I enjoyed talking about Him, wishing people a Merry Christmas, sending cards mentioning the birth of our Saviour. We all do things out of the ordinary — we attend candlelight services, do nice things for people, and actually succeed in remembering what it’s all about. But what happens when Christmas is over? Do we take all that we discovered and thought and said and shove it into a closet? Or do we keep it out? Do we keep talking about Jesus, about the miracle of His birth? Do we continue to do charitable acts, reaching out to feed and clothe and help those in need? We celebrate Christmas as a season, but it’s a celebration that should last all year long. The gifts He has given are meant to be used daily, to be kept out for easy access. They’re meant to be celebrated and shared.

So I challenge you this year, as we pack up the ornaments and gift wrap and trees: let’s take stock of all He has given us, and let’s remember to use it. Enjoy it. Love it. Let’s greet people with smiles and laughter. Let’s find reasons to get together with friends and family. Let’s think about what it means that a baby, an amazing and one-of-a-kind child, came to live among us. Let’s think about what it means that He still lives, and that He loves, and that He calls us His own. Let’s think about Jesus — all 365 days of the year.

O come let us adore Him

It’s that time of year when Christmas carols are blaring over speakers everywhere you go. One line that sticks in my head every time is “O come let us adore Him.” It sounds so easy. It is so easy. So why don’t we do it? We don’t have to travel as the wise men did, with caravans of people and supplies for hundreds of miles, for months of our lives, to deliver a costly gift to the Messiah. We don’t have to beg to be allowed into His throne room, and we don’t have to follow a star to find His lowly manger. We don’t even have to move. Not a single inch. He — the Christ child, the sacrificial Lamb of God, the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace — He deigns to come to us. But He wants to be adored. He wants us to show Him how much it means to us that He dwells among us. So this year at Christmas, especially, let’s show Him. Let’s reach out in love to every person we encounter. Let’s offer gifts of ourselves, our time, our sacrifice, our thoughtfulness — to help others, not burden ourselves with more debt to buy people things they don’t really need. Let’s remember the One for whom the holiday is named, and let’s use His name — kindly and gently, not belligerently — wherever we go. Let’s make sure that, with every action, every conversation, every thought, and every gesture, we adore Him. Let’s make sure He sees how much we love Him. And let’s make sure others who are around us remember — because of us — that the holiday we celebrate is Christmas, and the One we adore is Jesus.