A GIFT I COULDN'T HAVE IMAGINED


When I was a small child, I rose on my tiptoes and stared out our living room window, watching and waiting until Father arrived home from work.  “Mama,” I hollered as soon as I saw his pickup truck round the corner, “Daddy’s home!”  Then I raced to the front door to greet him.  Although he was weary, he often picked me up and twirled me around until I said, “Daddy, daddy, stop! Pleeeease!”  He eased me down; and we giggled together, walking hand-in-hand towards the kitchen where I sat on his lap while he drank a cup of steaming coffee and talked with Mother about his day.    

Now and then Father stood at the front door with his hands behind his back. 
“Pick a hand,” he’d say.  His words touched me like an electrical current, for I knew hidden behind Father and buried in the folds of one of his hands was a surprise meant just for me.

“This one,” I shouted, pointing wildly.  He whisked out his hand and slowly, too slowly, uncurled his fingers.  Finally, there it was: a gift I couldn’t have imagined—a prize from his box of  
Cracker Jacks, a package of M&Ms, a silver nickel, or a feather for my hair.

And I hadn’t thought of it until now, but it seems Father’s surprises had a curious way of coming on the days when I needed them most.  The days when I fell off my bicycle, broke something irreplaceable in the house, or went to the doctor with a sore throat.  I suppose Mother told him.  Somehow he knew I needed to be surprised with a gift of love that would help bind up my broken day. 

His gifts of love taught me that no matter how devastating my struggles, disappointments, and troubles were, they were only temporary.  A lifetime has passed since my childhood when I stood at the living room window eagerly awaiting Father’s arrival.  Yet at the end of many days, I often stare out my office window and find myself thinking about Father and his special gifts for me.  Even now, I can hear the voice of Father’s love whispering in my life.  

I am reminded that the deepest need of the human heart is to be loved.  To be loved utterly and completely just as we are, no matter what.  We respond to our need for love in a lot of different ways.  Sometimes we try to be perfect in order to earn love.  Or we repress our need until all that remains is a vague restlessness and yearning.  But one is loved because one is loved.  Love is always bestowed as a gift, freely, willingly, and without expectation.  No reason is needed for loving. And there is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. 

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