Volume 10, December 21, 2005

Greetings, all! File this one under: All I Want for Christmas…

Before I get to my point, let me responsibly cover current author-type news: the release of my third novel, Madman, a supernatural historic thriller, fast approaches—April 1, 2006. When you get a chance, check it out at www.madmananovel.com.

Several newsletters ago, I mentioned that I have two incidents up my sleeve to haul out whenever my faith is hard tested and I’m feeling forlorn and maybe neglected. The first is the Grandpa incident. (See Newsletter #6 in the archives.) The second concerns a semi-precious stone called lapis lazuli.

I’ve had a fascination for lapis lazuli since visiting Chile years ago. I’ve been told that lapis can be found naturally in two places, Chile and Afghanistan. It’s a deeply blue rock with sand-like glitters of gold in it. I’m enchanted by it, and have worked it into my books. In The Brother’s Keeper, the family moneybox is studded with lapis.

Well, a few years ago, my Christmas list to Jack was unpardonably long, even by my standards (if someone asks me what I want for Christmas, I let them know, in great and patient detail). For some reason, that year, I had enough shame not to seize the list and add to it. So one night I stood at my kitchen sink doing dishes and I lazily said, “God, in case you’re wondering, I’d like some lapis lazuli for Christmas.”

The weeks went by, and I forgot my request. On Christmas Eve, I was racing around the house in final preparation for our annual Christmas Eve Feast. I’d changed the menu 6 times, and was trying to figure out how to fix the prime rib without screwing it up, when Jack came home from work. He hadn’t taken off his coat and I was already barking orders. (“Hi—could you get out the table leaves for me? Could you run to the store and get a meat thermometer?”) He was making a list, when he suddenly patted his pockets, and said, “Hey, this came for you today.” He took out a small box. It was from our friends, Paul and Elizabeth, missionaries to Afghanistan.

“For me? Why me?” I didn’t know them well—Jack did, because Elizabeth used to work at our coffee shop. I opened up the box, stared at the contents, and to Jack’s utter amazement, I began to cry.

There, nestled on white packing foam, was the most beautiful lapis lazuli pendant I had ever seen. When stopped bawling, I told Jack what I asked of God for Christmas.

I wear it on special occasions, and sometimes I put it in my pocket. It reminds me that God loves to delight us, like I love to delight my own children by arranging to meet certain special requests. It was not only what I asked for, but it came on Christmas Eve—I wear it to remind myself that if God can pull off amazing little feats like this, just to charm and delight me, then surely He can do other things, bigger things, like giving me daily courage to face difficult life-issues; like giving me hope when things look dismal. I wear it like many people wear a cross. It’s one of two incidents that I fall back on as proof positive for me that God exists, and that he is in my life for good.

Others have their own experiences of God’s intervention. It’s amazing, isn’t it, that even outside the enormity of the gospel, or perhaps, inside it, God continues to assure us of his presence and his love. The simple act of walking into a hospice room (see Newsletter #6), or a piece of lapis lazuli on a silver chain may not be God-incidents to others; for me, they are earthquakes. Paul and Elizabeth did not know what their gift would mean to me. Uncle Tom didn’t know what the story of the thief on the cross would mean to my Grandpa, and then to me. I am reminded of the words of Lawrence Kushner:

Everyone carries with him at least one and probably
Many pieces to someone else’s puzzle.
Sometimes they know it.
Sometimes they don’t.

And when you present your piece
Which is worthless to you,
To another, whether you know it or not,
Whether they know it or not,
You are a messenger from the Most High.

Maybe our piece is not worthless to us at all, maybe we well know the value of it when we present it—but value is all relative to the human heart; one woman’s blue pendant is another woman’s mixing bowl. How can we know what effect our pieces will have on a human heart?

We can’t. God can. Ours is only to offer our pieces. You never know what He’s going to do with them.

Merry Christmas, everyone. God bless you, and keep you, and cause His face to shine upon you.

Groot—out.

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