Gift Basket

My aunt can gild like nobody's business. She's my hero because she took every gilding class the Lower 48 offered and then flew to Italy to really kick it up a notch. On a trip to Florence she purchased this hand-carved shepherd from a nativity set. They sell them à la carte over there. She told me she loved how humble he was bringing a basket of eggs to Baby Jesus.

As previously stated, my whole life's dream is to go to Europe, so I really treasure souvenirs that come from the real and actual Europe. I keep this little guy behind the leaded glass doors of my secretary desk. It's where all my special things go, like the casting of RE's baby hand and the glass slipper from Greg's favorite Russian and my signed illustration from Richard Hull.

I sit at my secretary desk every morning while I write letters and pay bills. I stare at my special things. I have stared at that shepherd for hours. I have grown to love what he symbolizes.

Lowly shepherd knew that Baby Jesus couldn't eat food yet, but all he could give was what he had, and what he had were eggs. Does the Lord actually need anything from any of us besides our closeness? Our honest journey toward him? Our sacrifice?

This newly broken version of me, the one that is regenerating lost limbs and shooting down new roots and hunting for sinews and fibers to mend with, has recently felt like I don't have any gifts good enough to give away. I was Superwoman and now I'm not. I had a Superplan and it didn't work. I'm a shadow to my old giant. I'm so lost I don't even know what to write on my to-do list each morning. I'm still recovering in a total fog.

Serendipitous Wednesday, where I only received Christmas cards in my mailbox, hailed a letter from my FNDN (Forever Next Door Neighbor). She sent me a 5x7 that said JUST BE YOU. IT'S ENOUGH. Instantly I thought of the shepherd and his eggs and it all made sense: he gave what he had from who he really was and it was still accepted. Just give what you've got, Melissa. Just be you, even if it's a broken you, and it will be acceptable...even to yourself.

I feel a lot like that barefoot servant; sheepish about what could I possibly give this year. A less potent dose of my usual humor, a brave face, empathetic sorrow and a few homemade gifts? Maybe so. But they are mine to give, and they are enough.

*I love you, JP! Inspired, as usual.

*Interesting tidbit: "an egg" in French is "un oeuf", pronouned "enough". Funny that an egg is enough, no?