Just as my father showed me his love with the Batmobile, to accept Christ as a gift is to accept the total passion of God as Father. The best gift is not given at the last minute.
Wherever you go, these days the garlands are on top of you, not to mention the multicolored chirimbolos and the stuffed reindeer. Since globalization knocked on the door, you can have a pine covered with snow in your living room even though outside, on your terrace, the temperature is 38 ° C.
This month is extraordinary: people get -from a drawer I don’t know- an extra share of sympathy. They all say hello, thank each other, and text each other with wonderful wishes, exchange huge packages with velvety bows, and are even able to say nice things to the mother-in-law, even if she unexpectedly falls for a visit. What impresses me the most is seeing the children’s excitement when they talk about their gigantic gift list. Christmas gifts, a magic phrase that shakes the atria and increases palpitations considerably.
One of my favorite gifts, the one I remember the most, is Batman’s car. Dolls in velvet dresses and kitchen sets weren’t for me, I far preferred nature, adventure and the feeling of being safe. And Batman gave me all of that. He was my hero. The other girls had no idea, but at three years old I was their number one fan across the screen. When my father read the letter, he wanted to die. I had asked my mother to write for me that all I wanted to have was a car like Batman’s.
My father might as well have played the bear and bought me a dollhouse or an ice cream maker. But he knew me, he knew that I wasn’t going to settle for an evasive answer when opening the gift, let alone accept an excuse. So that night he closed the office early, and after dismissing the last patient, he got to work: he took a pencil and paper and designed the Batmobile. The next day he went to an auction and sneakily brought a pedal car, absolutely wrecked, which he kept far from my curiosity. For a week he didn’t come to dinner on time, he had an appointment with my special Christmas order. Hammer blows here, welds there, clay, rivets and cans of paint, more here, they were turning a simple pedal car into a fantastic and surprising Batman car, unique in the country. Years later I learned that dozens of parents knocked on the door of the house asking where they could get one like it.
Do you have a similar gift in your memories? Yes, I’m sure you have it, we all treasure one inside our hearts, still wrapped in red cellophane and dilating our pupils to the maximum. Dad loved me unconditionally, so he sacrificed his hours of rest and his hands as a dentist. He was not satisfied with saying to himself: “She is small and I am going to fill her eye with something that is fashionable.” And you know what? The same thing happened with God.
He didn’t want to give you a last minute gift
The one you choose when you remember that you have forgotten someone’s birthday, or are about to get on the plane. God wanted to give you a gift as great as his fatherly love. Have you read the note? It’s for you, and he wrote it with his hands. Luke 2:11, leaves no room for doubt: “Today in the city of David, a Savior has been born to you, who is Christ the Lord.”
With his gift comes his undeserved grace, and with it, he grants cleansing for your stained soul and healing for your wounds. It all starts with a little faith: almost immediately you dive into the spring of life, because you are blessed, chosen, adopted, accepted, redeemed and forgiven.
Accepting his gift is discovering that your life is transformed and that the history of infidelities, mistakes and evils is out of date. God’s gift stimulates you, disposes you to change, and then gives you the authority to carry it out. Just as my father showed me his love with the Batmobile, to accept Christ as a gift is to accept the total passion of God as Father for you.