Birthdays are for Giving

The word gift is in many titles, including songs, movies and television shows.  I cannot help but think about this word as my mother’s ninetieth birthday is only four days away.

I am pretty certain we all enjoy receiving gifts.  What are your favorite gifts?  Is a gift not something wrapped in paper that you rip open and enjoy for a while before you get bored and shove it away on a shelf somewhere?

Maybe some gifts are like that.

Would it be cold-hearted and un-feeling to think of a person as a gift?

Concerning my mother, I have a multitude of memories (yes, my memory still functions) that I speak and write about, such as good meals, comfort in sorrow, thoughtful conversation, decorating on holidays, unmatched potato salad and sugar cookies, opening the house to neighbor kids (if they watched their language), sports knowledge.  These and countless others are gifts that are stored on my memory shelf, though, to be honest, most of them I just took for granted for much of my life.

Mom and I both remember a story.  I was probably about twelve years old, just arriving home from school.  I opened the front door of the house on Hummel Drive, and I saw her sitting on the couch.  I told her she looked very tired, and she proceeded to tell me all the work she had done that day.  I looked at her and said – yes, I really said this – “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”  I don’t remember her response, but none of you would blame her if she had thought about smacking me.

I now realize that the blessing of my mother is not what she does, but who she is.  She is a precious gift. 

To say my mother is gift is not making less of her, not at all.  It is, rather, giving to the Creator the proper appreciation that He deserves.  Why?  Because the term gift demands a Giver.  My mother did not fall from the sky, and she is not the result of a cosmic accident.  The God of the universe who created the first man from dust decreed that it be so.  He not only possessed in Himself the idea of a mother, He appointed my mother especially for me.   To consider that and try to unpack it and grasp just a glimpse of His greatness is indeed to begin to see His beauty, majesty, wisdom, and love.

As a young man, nearly forty years ago, I wrote a Christmas card and sent it out to friends and family members.  Its title is from the well-known Bible verse John 3:16.  The gifts that we give and receive in this life are wonderful and worthy of appreciation.  However, the gift described below is incomparable.  I offer it to you with joy and reverence, and with a hopeful heart.  It was my attempt – my gift, one might say – to communicate the blessing of this wonderful gift of God with the hope that those who read it would see beyond my imperfect communication and instead  would see the worthiness of the One about whom it speaks.  To this day my prayer is that all my loved ones would by faith receive this gift that only God can give.   To God alone be the glory.

“God So Loved…He Gave…”

God gave the first Christmas gift

He gave no less than Heaven’s best

He gave to mankind His only begotten Son, Jesus

He gave not out of necessity or obligation

He gave for one reason…Love

Nearly 2000 years ago, the Son of God stepped

Out of eternity and into the pages of history

Angles spoke of the coming miracle to Joseph and Mary

A shining star proclaimed His birth in Bethlehem

Shepherds worshipped Him and welcomed Him into the World

All the hosts of Heaven rejoiced and praised the Father,

They thanked him for his immeasurable love

This king was not born in a palace

He was not born into a royal family

Nor did He sit on an earthly throne

He did not seek to gain glory, power, and honor

Because He came to give, not to take

For a third of a century He walked this earth as a man

He brought salvation to hearts hungry for life

He forgave the sins of the ungodly

He healed the sick and raised the dead

He showed compassion for the lost and forsaken

And He healed the hearts of the broken-hearted

He gave His life and love to all who would receive it

He gave His life on a cross

He died and earthly death that we might have a heavenly life

He died to mend our spirits and reunite us with God

Yet He lives today and His love continues

Jesus, the eternal Christ

The man whose life began in a manger

And ended on a cross

He gave Himself to us in life

He gave Himself for us in death

All this because “God so Loved

Mom Was a Prodigal

I think I got your attention.

What do you mean, Mom was a Prodigal?

Okay, I get to define the terms.  You see, there is more than one definition for "prodigal".  The one we commonly think of is "wastefully or recklessly extravagant".  That's the description of the younger son in chapter 15 of St. Luke's Gospel.  He's the one who demands that his father give him his inheritance immediately, something he was supposed to get at his father's death.  Surprisingly, the father gives him what he wants and then, as Paul Harvey used to say, there is "the rest of the story".  What does this son do?  He spends all that he has in a wasteful and recklessly extravagant manner.  He fits that definition.

But I'm choosing -- I'm defining the terms, remember -- the other two definitions that you'll likely find in any dictionary.  One of them is "giving or yielding profusely, extravagant".  The third definition is "lavishly abundant, profuse".

Kinda changes things, doesn't it?  It doesn't take much to be a prodigal like the first definition.  To be wasteful and reckless doesn't take great skill.  So is it ever proper to call somebody a Prodigal and mean it as a compliment?  Yes.

So again I say, Mom was a Prodigal.   Mom was "lavish" with her love.  I won't try to guess the countless times she encouraged me, sympathized with me, hugged me, listened intently to the silly things I said.  I thought I was pretty smart, because my mom treated me that way.

Mom was "giving" with her words of wisdom.  When I said my legs hurt, she told me it was "growing pains".  When I was hungry an hour before dinnertime, I learned that I had "a nervous stomach".  When we watched an intense detective show on television,  amazingly, she could always figure out how it was going end.

She was profuse with her knowledge.  I know the term "Renaissance Man" is often used.  Well, if there is such a thing -- and there should be -- Mom was a "Renaissance Woman".  Mom seemed to know more than most people about politics, the arts, sports, ethics, style.  I was always amazed.  Well, until I got to the age where I thought I could compete with her.  But there was never a question or topic that arose that Mom did not have enough understanding to make an intelligent comment.

Okay, does the parable from Luke 15 describe a Prodigal in a positive light?  Indeed it does.  You see, the father in this story was a Prodigal.  When the younger son returned home, determined to become "a hired servant" in order to show his father how sorry he was, the father sees him from a distance.  In an undignified manner, he runs to meet his son, lavishly embracing and kissing him.  When the son reveals his plan to "pay Dad back", the father will have none of it.  He calls for his best robe, a ring for his son's finger, and a fatted calf for a celebration.  These are the actions of a Prodigal Father, receiving his lost son and celebrating as though the son had accomplished something worthy of honor.  The Father in the parable is a wonderful picture of the Father in heaven who lavishly pours out grace upon those who have rebelled and behaved like the younger son.

When I came into the world as a son to Mom and Dad, I had nothing to offer them.  Yet I was treated like royalty -- fed, clothed, changed, bathed – even given a "high chair"!  The wonderful thing about having parents who love you is realizing that they love you while expecting nothing in return.

Can I put into the words what it meant to have a Prodigal Mother?  I won't even make an attempt. Sometimes I think only two words are useful.  Thank You.  Mom, thank you for the abundance of love that you showered upon me.  Thank you for being a Prodigal Mother.

I must make one more change.  I said at the beginning, "Mom was a Prodigal".  The "Rest of the Story" for my life is this: she still is.  I continue to enjoy the wonderful blessing of having a mother who treats me with prodigal love simply because she wants to, not because of any great thing I have done for her.  I'm truly a blessed man.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Don