The gift that matters

 

               Gifts for a King

 Toward the east, a star, the emblem of Israel’s king, had lit up the heavens. Wise men arrived in Jerusalem, searching for the Messiah, the rightful King of the Jews, but the news disturbed King Herod and the city of Jerusalem because this new king’s birth threatened Herod’s reign. Horrified, King Herod secretly summoned the Wise Men to his Jerusalem court and questioned them.

 “We saw his star, and we must worship him.”

  “Where did you first see the star?”

 “It arose in the East.”

 In fear and hatred, Herod consulted the priests and law teachers.

 “Do you know the Messiah’s birthplace?”

“Yes, because nearly seven hundred years ago, Micah prophesied God’s shepherd would arise from Bethlehem.”

 Herod sent the wise men to Bethlehem to find this young king, pretending he wanted to worship him. They left Herod, following the star to Joseph and Mary’s house, where it rested overhead.

  “At last, we will meet this king. Let’s worship him and honor him with our gifts!”

As they entered the home, Mary welcomed them, and they bowed at Jesus’ feet. They presented Jesus with gold, frankincense and myrrh, costly, precious gifts, fit for the Jewish king. And after they departed, they returned home, since God had warned them in a dream to avoid King Herod.

  For this King, gold represented his worth and rule, while frankincense combined with oil, thanked God for his birth, just as the priest offered it in the temple. It also recognized that Jesus, the high priest, would intercede for sinners. And the myrrh, used in embalming, would symbolize his burial.

 Gifts! What makes a gift valuable? Is the giver’s effort or their intent important to the recipient? Is it the gift’s intrinsic value, whether it is a priceless gem, a family heirloom or a handcrafted item?

                         A Christmas Allegory

 

It wasn’t spectacular, but Wilhelm had scoured the forest searching for a gift to please the count’s daughter, and on a summer day, he discovered the perfect specimen. He wanted his gift to be memorable, but as a carpenter and wood chopper, he couldn’t delight her with gold or silver. Her creamy complexion and gold tresses thrilled him, and he longed to impress her. Was his gift worthy of her? They’d been the best of friends in their childhood.

 As the months passed, the tender sapling grew straight and tall, and lifting it from the forest floor, he planted it in a box, trimmed its branches and watered it. On Christmas Eve, he tied a red ribbon around the planter box and trudged through the snow to the castle high above his village, his pulse racing with each step. Would Mathilde appreciate the humble gift of a village lad?

There he spied her, leaning over the balustrade, attired in a long white coat and a fur muff. She waved as he drew near, and his spirits lifted. He heaved the planter box up the staircase and set it at her feet.

 “Greetings. I thought you were my beau, but aren’t you the carpenter from the village? Why have you brought a leafless tree to the castle?”

“It is a young oak tree I have grown for you, and it will sprout in the spring. Don’t you remember me?” He took off his hat, twisting it between his fingers as he searched her eyes.

 “That is kind, but what would I do with this tree? There are plenty in my father’s woodland.”

A frown spread across his forehead. “Yes, but this one is of a rare variety. If you don't want it, I suppose I'll plant it somewhere else after the snow melts. Why would you’d accept my gift?”

She shook her head, and her lip curled. He lifted the box and trudged away with a heavy heart.

 As the days lengthened, and spring flowers dotted the hillsides, he planted the oak tree near the castle gate. Each summer it grew taller, spreading its stately branches over the arches of the ancient stone wall. Eventually, the young maiden married a wealthy landowner, and after her father’s death, she inherited the castle, but one day, as her tall carriage passed under the arch, it snagged on the overhanging branches. She climbed down and surveyed the damage.

 “That tree must be removed, since I cannot let it obstruct my path.”

And the next day, she summoned the woodcutter to the library.

 “I’ll pay you well for removing that tree. What is your fee?”

 “There is no fee, your ladyship, because several years ago, I planted that oak in your honor. May I trim it?”

 She dismissed him. “Cut it down at once and do as you please with the wood.”

 Her beauty had not faded. Although she'd snubbed him and was beyond reach, he could not forget her. As he raised the axe, every blow cut into his heart. The pile of fresh timber mounted until he’d filled his wagon. He carried it home and unloaded it into his barn. Years passed, and the oak lay smothered in cobwebs. The woodcutter’s hands knobbed at the joints, and in the castle, the countess gave no more thought to the old man in the village.

 As the nights turned cold, he collected wood for his fire. He lifted an oak branch from the stack, hauling it outside to chop it. He split the log in half, revealing the rich golden rings in the timber.

“I cannot burn such fine timber, but I can craft it into a fine rocking chair.”

 Each day, he sawed and sanded, working at his bench, a labor of love born from the tree he had nurtured long ago. He carved edelweiss into the headrest and turned the legs on his lathe, varnishing the oak until it shone gold in the sunlight. When he’d finished, he set it on his porch to dry. A week later, the countess passed by in her carriage. She spotted the rocking chair and ordered her coachman to stop and ask the woodcutter for his price. The woodcutter met her at the carriage door.

 “Good day, your ladyship. I will give you the rocking chair because it is priceless. When it was a sapling, I offered it to you, but you had no use for it. It grew large, and you wanted it removed. I had to sacrifice the tree and I chopped it down, yet I could not burn it. I stowed the timber in my barn for decades, saddened that you did not appreciate its beauty, but I have given it a new life, which will survive the centuries.”

  A tear rolled down the countess’s wrinkled cheek. “I do not deserve it, for I despised your lowly birth. Good day, and may you rest your weary bones in it after your labor.”

But the woodcutter clasped the countess’s hands in his, and his voice grew husky.

 “I have always loved you, your ladyship. Will you reject my gift again? You will find rest within its arms as it rocks you to sleep.”

 She nodded and dabbed her cheek with a lace handkerchief. “You are right, Wilhelm. How can I refuse when you have spent your life caring about me? I can never thank you for everything you have done. Will you forgive me?”

 “You are forgiven. Go in peace, for it has been worth waiting a lifetime until you understood its value.”

© Janet Crawshaw 2025    

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                    What do we think of Jesus?

 Although angels heralded the Savior’s birth, the inhabitants of Bethlehem regarded him as the carpenter’s son, not appreciating his royal birth. Despised and rejected, Jesus died to save his people from their sins. Do you appreciate that he is God’s gift to us? He is waiting until you are ready to receive his Son as your Savior and Friend.

 As we celebrate his birth with family and friends, I pray we recognize he is faithful, that he loves us and that his gift of eternal life is priceless. If you have spent your life ignoring Jesus, while you live it is never too late to welcome him into your heart. His birthday may be the day of your new birth in Christ.  

                 

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.   John 3:16