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I love Christmas! Love, love, love Christmas. I love it for all the right (and wrong) reasons. You know what I’m talking about. It’s that - put Mariah Carey on repeat - pine tree glade plug-ins in every room - oh wow, I’ve never seen a yard with 32 inflatables - one cup of eggnog is 425 calories, but pour me another please - type of love. And while the season fades, the real reason never does. Christmas isn’t Christmas without celebrating the birth of Christ. He gave us the ultimate gift - His unblemished life for our sins. And while I can’t - and will never attempt to - top that gift, I struggle every….single….year…thinking about what to give the people I love most.
The perfect gift. The gift that makes you so excited that you want to tell them what it is before they even open it.
While I struggled, I began to reminisce over gifts I received. My first bike. I was five. I remember the exact age because my parents gave it to me together - they hadn’t divorced yet. That bike, let me tell you, was my dream bike. Silver and blue, Dallas Cowboy style. You couldn’t tell me that thing wasn’t clean! My dad would come home from work and even though it was getting dark, I could tell where he was by the ember at the end of his cigarette. I’d wobble off and look back to see that small orangish glow trailing behind me. Pretty soon, I was a pro. He told me I learned quickly because he was a master teacher. But we both know a little bit of me died inside every time I nicked the paint after dumping my bike. And after that - FREEDOM! Well, two-block radius
freedom, anyway.
Metal, tires, a boy and his dad. My dad taught me it’s okay to fall as long as I get back up.
When I was nine I asked for a toy pistol set. And when I say I asked for it, I mean, I begged. So, when my grandaddy said he had a gift for me I did my best to contain my excitement when I held out my hand and he dropped in….my first watch. Mama waited for my reaction, so I held in my disappointment, but wow, a watch? Really, grandaddy? He believed, “a man can’t get anywhere in life if he can’t get there on time.” And then he proceeded to test me. He’d ask me to help him with a task at a very specific time and it was my job to show up. “We’re going to repair the screen door at 7:06 p.m.” Or, “meet your grandmother in the garden at 10:17 a.m.” After my annoyance wore off, it became natural when he’d say “Timmy,
help me move this table tonight,” I’d respond with, “what time, grandaddy?” Before long, it became a competition - who could get there the earliest. And we’d work - sometimes in silence, sometimes he’d play a little Motown, and sometimes we’d bet our fake millions on which wrestler was going to win that night.
A watch, a boy and his grandaddy. A timeless gift of time spent together.
And then it hit me. People don’t remember the gift. Not really, anyway. The gift is merely the vehicle that takes you on the journey of an everlasting memory. The gift is found in the scratched bike paint, the glow of our dad’s cigarettes, and minutes ticked away with our grandaddy.
Like the season, the gift fades. The memory lasts forever. The perfect gift is not the gift. The perfect gift is what comes after.
If Jesus can change the whole world in one night with His gift, imagine what you can do with your gift. Don’t make it about the price tag, make the memory.
From my family to yours, Merry Christmas.
Tim Scott
p.s. I’m still waiting on that toy pistol set.
PAID FOR BY TIM SCOTT FOR SENATE
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