Why I Couldn't Click the Checkout Button

As I sat down in my recliner last night, I began browsing the internet for gifts that I would buy last second for my family members.

I started by asking each person what their favorite thing to do was, or where their favorite place to go was.

Then, I started thinking more about that question, and thought it wasn't enough. So, I asked them to tell me which of those awakened them most to the presence of God.

Then, I made a list for each person.

Then, I Googled.

And lists and lists and lists of products filled the screen. My brain swirled with indecisiveness as I wondered what the perfect item would be for that specific person. Then, I realized that shipping was so expensive, so I decided to go the emailed gift card route.

Then, I realized I didn't have the emails for all of my recipients, and that threw a wrench into my gift-giving. And then I regretted not starting on this about three months ago when I wasn't so damn busy.

Then, I started thinking about money, and how so many of my friends don't even have a few bucks for gas. How can I even be thinking about clicking this checkout button while my friends sit here with nothing to live off of?

Then I started feeling guilty . . . the exact opposite of what I'm supposed to be feeling this time of year.

And so I sit here, in a quiet living room, clock ticking, heater running, wondering how I let the whisper of the empire get into my ears long enough to convince me this is okay.

Previous years I'd created the time to create gifts, and now I'm aimlessly pulling up lists of items that'll fill the void I have of not creating the time to create things that will last. I feel like a Christmas failure, like it was the best chance of the year to put my mind to something creative and inspiring, only to find that the time ran out. What are they gonna think of me? What if they give me something, but I don't give them anything? What if they realize I wasn't really thinking of them, but thinking rather of trying to ease the guilt of not . . . giving . . . something?

I have been giving. I've been giving constantly. Yet, there's this subliminal message around Christmas time that says, "If you don't give presents, then you're not giving. This is where the rubber meets the road. Forget all the stuff and time and money you've given throughout the year because this is where it truly matters. If you don't give now, you haven't given ever."

I know what I need to give, but I've been trying to fight it off. It's a gift that exposes the real me, the authentic me, the raw me. And, I'm afraid of giving it. I'm afraid of people knowing who I really am, what I've really done, what I really think. I've been trying to escape the inner voice that keeps telling me to give myself away while everyone sits around the Christmas tree. That's a scary thing, and it makes Amazon and Google look really, really, appetizing. 

So, this whole gift-giving, shopping, Googling, buy-as-much-as-you-can season isn't really about not having enough time to buy presents. It's about giving that one thing that I try to avoid giving every year to the people closest to me - the real me that no one knows about. And, in order to get the real me, you have to get my real story.

I was powerless, full of shame, full of the unquenchable desire to escape a miserable life, and the bottom came. A dark, dismal, depressing life that was hopeless. Then, when I had no strength left to keep fighting, I was rescued by a God who demanded nothing but wanted more than anything to know me, to love me, and to be with me. And, it's that story I'll put under the tree this year.