“He is the image of the invisible God…” (Colossians 1:15, NET).
The gifts rise like a multi-colored box-mountain under our Christmas tree—colorfully swaddled in red, green, and silver. I survey the geometric mound, scrutinizing the little tags that say “Reg,” or “Daddy,” or “Budbo” (all me). I’m mildly interested in the other packages, but the ones I spend time shaking have some form of my name on the tag.
But, shaking provides little evidence of the relative value of the gift—relative because the giver is always a family member, and a close one. So, I consult the tag, and note the giver. Each gift is special, because each one reflects—albeit, imperfectly—the love and sacrifice of the giver. I value the gift because I value the giver. And I value the giver because the giver values me.
These aren’t white elephant gifts—the kind I might trade, the kind others can take from me. These gifts are keepers because they were given with me in mind, and they bear the signature of someone who loves me.