And that gift is Jesus.

I often wish that indescribable gift would fit into the same category of gifts that I am able to give.

We spent many a Christmas Eve burning the midnight oil assembling various gifts so that they would be ready to go at first light when the children burst forth from their bedrooms on Christmas morning.

One year, Danny's sister got a great deal on a bicycle for one of her children. We spent the holiday at Mom's, and so it fell to Danny to help assemble the bicycle late on Christmas Eve. It went well, up to a point. The assembly was nearly complete when we discovered that one of the pedals had gone missing. We scrambled around, looking under this and under that, tearing through the box, rummaging through the trash, all to no avail. The pedal was gone. We were at our wit's end. It was late at night, Christmas would not wait, and Danny's sister was beside herself. Eventually, calmer heads prevailed, a pedal was "borrowed" from a different bicycle, cleaned and spit-polished, and the recipient, thrilled to find the bicycle, fully assembled under the tree the next morning, was none the wiser.

I like fully assembled gifts. I am not handy, nor am I patient. And I make the same assumptions about those to whom I give gifts and so I try to give complete gifts with no assembly required.

Oftentimes, while raising my own children, and now watching another generation go through the angst of growing up, particularly the angst of the teen years, I wish again that the gift that is Jesus, the gift of faith, the greatest gift of God to his creation, came fully assembled, neatly wrapped, with a perky squiggle ribbon perfectly centered on the box. Sometimes, watching an old friend of significant years still wrestling with life, while death looms closer every day, I long to get out the wrapping paper, the scotch tape and ribbons of many colors, wishing faith were something I could purchase for her.

But, neither the Gift nor the Giver will fit into a box.

But, you can be sure that if this gift could be given as other gifts are, my shopping list would circle the globe.

For this gift gives peace. This gift is the antidote to fear. This gift takes worry and floats it away on harmless clouds of summer fluff. This gift answers the what ifs and the might have beens. This gift provides purpose for each new day.

This gift is waiting when you wake during the midnight watch, a close companion that comforts those that mourn. This gift gives life and that more abundant.

And this Gift keeps on giving. Which is why he won't fit in a box, nor stay on a shelf, or consign himself to Sunday mornings, then dutifully collect dust throughout the rest of the week.

You have to make room for this gift. Just a little at first, but soon enough you find yourself jettisoning bitterness, then rage, and soon, not even resentment can find a foothold. Envy and lust are squeezed out through the narrow crevices of the heart, reluctant to leave, but more and more uncomfortable with every passing day.

Because this gift gives life, not only more abundant, but new. New every day. I cannot give this gift, though I long to with all of my heart. But the Gift is right there, ready and waiting.

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" Matthew 7:7-11 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Empty boxes