Prayer
By C.S. Lewis

Master, they say that when I seem
To be in speech with you,
Since you make no replies, it's all a dream
--One talker aping two.

They are half right, but not as they
Imagine; rather, I
Seek in myself the things I meant to say,
And lo! the wells are dry.

Then, seeing me empty, you forsake
The Listener's role, and through
My dead lips breathe and into utterance wake
The thoughts I never knew.

And thus you neither need reply
Nor can; thus, while we seem
Two talking, thou art One forever, and I
No dreamer, but thy dream.

Answers

God usually has four answers to our prayers:

"Yes."

"No."

"Wait."

Or, "I've got something better."

When I was six years old, I all but prayed that I would get to be a flower girl. Some of my best friends got to be flower girls (multiple times!), but not I. One of my friends even received a great prize in exchange for donning a beautiful dress, dropping flower petals, and briefly being the center of attention: a dark wood jewelry box with a little white ballerina inside that danced endearingly to a charming tinkle when you opened the lid. And I coveted that flowery status. My consolation came in realizing that when my oldest siblings got married, I would be guaranteed the high ranking position of flower girl in their wedding(s). Every fiber in my being longed for it. I don't remember praying about it, but I wouldn't be surprised if I did. I waited for God's answer.

Fourteen years later, He's asked, "How about being a bridesmaid instead?"

In my first wedding with a dear girl friend and a dear brother getting hitched to each other. What more could I ask?

God's answers are always better than what we had envisioned ourselves.

God's robust generosity

*Hustle*bustle*hustle*bustle

Do these make real sounds? Probably a "hustle" sounds like rapid footfalls, while a "bustle" sounds like huge 19th century skirts swishing. At least that's what I think.

As I hustle into one store and bustle into the next, sights, sounds, and thoughts pepper me from every direction. I see the young blonde lady in an automatic wheelchair, her cart bulging with pillows, accompanied by a black-coated man with a strange accent. I hear the grandmother telling her chubby grandson to put the mouth-watering Pringles back on the shelf.

"He's five years old and thinks money grows on trees," she tells the lady next to her.

"My son is 23 and he still thinks money grows on trees," another lady replies. They chuckle.

I stare at the item (it's not Christmas yet and the internet has ears), debating whether or not to get it. "Money is like manure," I comfort myself with the saying passed on from some family friends. "It doesn't do anybody any good unless you spread it all around." I pick up the item and stride toward the register. But what about this other person? Am I not spending enough money on them while I spend it on this person? I poke myself inwardly for thinking this way. Am I being too materialistic?

So many people hate Christmas. So many make fun of it as a pagan holiday, twisted by department stores to prey on mankind's greed. What am I motivated by, materialism or love?

In the midst of these conflicting thoughts, another penetrates: God gave generously. He gave us Jesus. For those with a personal relationship with Him, Christmas is never about materialism. It's about imitating our Creator by giving freely as He gave. Freely ye've received, now freely give!

Of course, I've known for ages that Christmas was about giving, not getting. Yet still the thrill of opening that package with my name on it continued to enamor me as a child. I tried to hide my selfish excitement, but it still glowed and bubbled beneath the surface, like a pet monster breathing underwater. It was difficult to mollify the cute beast whenever I talked to friends after Christmas. It seemed like no matter how nice my presents were, theirs were always a little nicer. I let my cute monster turn green and I hated myself for it as I tried desperately to be content with what I had. It wasn't my friends' fault if their dads made more money than mine did.

Why am I writing this? I'm not sure. Perhaps because I've realized that receiving presents no longer holds the same electric appeal to me. The euphoria is gone. Not that gifts don't bless me when they're given in love, but I've realized that they don't satisfy. They're empty wind. In contrast, giving is bringing increasing joy. Yes, I worry briefly as I watch money slide through my fingers every Christmas, but God is able to provide. He provided a lamb for Abraham when he nearly offered Isaac. He provided His Son when no other solution was possible. My God gives generously. Why shouldn't I?

I am glad our family doesn't draw names for Christmas. I can see why big families want to save money and not be drawn into materialism by flooding their home with unneeded gifts, but it's not the gifts that we need. It's the giving of them. If you want to save money, give in full faith and love. God doesn't like to be outdone in the giving department--He'll see that you're taken care of. I've seen this happen over and over again just in my small experience (though I'm not recommending foolish, out of the Spirit giving either). And don't just give to one person. If God gave His Son to save one person then where would we be?

For the thousandth and first time, Christmas isn't about getting. It's about giving. It may be hard to convince an eight-year-old of this but anyone older who has felt the euphoria of getting presents die knows what I'm talking about.

Christmas is God's object lesson for His people. Don't spoil it by keeping it half-heartedly. Exercise the same robust generosity that God did, even if it hurts. It hurt Him. It was worth it to Him. Is it worth it to us?

I hand over the money (hey, it's not mine anyway!) to the cashier, and warm with pleasure as I think about giving my prize to a loved one. Could this be a small picture of how God felt, and of how He feels today? I don't know, but it makes spending the money a lot easier.

And it makes Christmas just a little more beautiful.