behind and beyond the gift itself

One of my most memorable Christmas presents is one that I still have. There was a giant box at the tree--'at' because it wouldn't fit underneath. We opened all our presents, and I saved this one for last. I had no idea what it could be. The only things I ever wanted at Christmas and my birthday were dolls and clothes, and I'd already opened plenty of those. I recognize my dad's handwriting, so I know it's from him. I strip off the paper, and there's another box with a note on it, "Good job! Keep going!" This box is wrapped too, so I peel off the wrapping. Another box. Another note. And so on. Each box has a word of encouragement to keep going with only slight variations like "Isn't this fun?" and "Are you tired yet?" and "Almost there!" (Wish I'd saved all those notes now; they were cute.)

FINALLY, I get to a package the size of a shoebox. It's wrapped in the prettiest paper of all, and the note says, "This is it!" I unwrap this last box, and lift out a hand-tooled leather purse with my initials on it in the middle. It has a gold clasp, woven trim around the edges, an adjustable strap, and the inside has a red and black patternless fabric and three pockets. I remember the smell of leather and whatever that liquid is he used to preserve it. Kind of a "high-pitched, medicinal sweetness" and a touch of rubbing alcohol.

Immediately, I think back to the Saturday afternoon that my mom told me to take a Coke to my dad, who was in the rec room. It doesn't have a door on it, so I just walked in and said, "Mom said to give this to you." He seemed a little disconcerted but thanked me, and I realized I'd startled him. I've never liked bothering people, much less my dad, so I stole out as quickly and quietly as I'd come. I realized that this purse is what he must have been working on that day. I recognized the tooling on what was then a large piece of flat leather.

I've often thought of how many times life is like that. I think I'm going to do something and it'll be over, but I do it and for whatever reason, I find that I'm doing it again. And again. And again. And while I wouldn't choose to keep repeating this action, there are usually various degrees of amusement, encouragement, or instruction sprinkled in, which make the whole experience less of a drain or monotony, most especially when I look back on it.

The look on my dad's face when I lifted it out of the box and examined it with a full-on smile is what I remember even more vividly than the present itself because his joy was such a great gift! My Abba's joy over offering gift after gift after gift is a present I hope to more fully appreciate as We grow closer and deeper.