A Wonderful Gift

It isn't my birthday. It isn't Christmas. I haven't done anything special to deserve a gift, but I received one anyway. I found out yesterday on my way home from work.

It started Thursday night. My dad called me. He and my mom live about an hour away, by car. He asked if I wanted some strawberry plants (he was thinning his patch). What? Of course I want strawberry plants. I love strawberries.

The problem was my schedule. That, and I was sick. Ugh.

I work at my kids' school. We leave each morning at 6:50 a.m. and don't get home until 5:30 or 6 p.m. Soccer, piano, etc., after school. Add to that my work at a local resort two nights a week and a very, as you can well imagine, messy house. Did I mention being sick?

How would I ever find the time and energy to plant 40-50 strawberry plants? When would I go help my dad dig them up? Clean out a garden spot for them? I'm sure you can well imagine what my answer to my dad was.

"Yes."

Am I crazy? Maybe. But... the strawberries I will have next summer.

Yesterday on my way home from work I was talking with my daughter. We were going over what needed to get done over the weekend. I won't bore you with my list. It might seem like an attempt to gain pity. At any rate, the list was concluded with... "Oh, yeah, and plant 50 strawberry plants."

I decided to call my dad. With rain in the weekend forecast we would have to play the strawberry exchange by ear. Would he dig them and meet me halfway to my house? Would I need to drive there and help dig? Would I need to borrow his small tiller to turn the soil in my garden? I was up for whatever he suggested. He was, after all, giving me free strawberry plants.

My dad answered and I went right into the strawberry inquisition.

Then, the gift arrived. It wasn't wrapped. It didn't come in a bag. It wasn't in my hands (yet). It was what my dad said. What my dad did.

He told me that while I was at work he drove to my house. Then, he proceeded to clean out a garden spot for the 40 plus strawberry plants he had laboriously dug out of his garden and lovingly placed into mine (after he had tilled the garden).

Have you ever felt like laughing, crying, jumping, dancing, and squealing all at the same time? I did at that moment. I was, however, driving, so I controlled myself.

What a gift.

It cost my dad time.

It cost my dad work.

It cost my dad gasoline.

It cost my dad.

It cost me... nothing.

That's what gifts should cost for the recipient. Nothing. Zero. Zilch.

In fact, it will be a gift that keeps on giving. Fresh strawberries. I can almost taste them now.

That's the kind of gifts God gives us. Free. Ever bearing. Sweet. Red. The color of strawberries and the color of blood. I did nothing to deserve the gift of sacrifice that Jesus made for me on the cross, either. But there it is. Available. For me. Free. A gift. Just like the strawberries.

Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Jesus. I accept. Thank you.