For reasons I won’t share today, my youngest son was estranged from me for four years. Misunderstandings. Harsh words. Hopeless feelings.
I’m still not sure of the whys behind what happened between us, but this summer I landed in the hospital and almost died. Another story for another time. My older son alerted his brother who called the hospital line and I heard his voice. As dreadful as I felt, and, trust me, I don’t know that I have ever felt so horrible in my life, hearing his voice and having a conversation gave me a reason to live.
We started texting and then came the pictures of my third grandchild. I knew he had a son, but seeing those pictures as I rested on the sofa after being released from the hospital changed everything.
One late summer weekend he and my grandson came for a visit. That blonde-haired blue-eyed 20-month-old boy, looking so much like his daddy at that age, walked up to me with no fear at all. He let me hold him and we played ball and laughed and those four horrible years melted away.
I knew things were on their way to being righted when my son handed me a gift. He probably spent only a few dollars, but to me it was, and always will be, priceless.
He brought my grandson back for a family Christmas and it was the first time I had all three grandsons over for dinner at once. I used the gift that day to make crème brulee. You really can’t make that without a wooden spoon. Using the spoon my son gifted me after four years of silence made me think of another gift given by that same son so many years ago.
This is the first devotional I had published and it’s still one of my favorites. It seems we’ve come full circle now. This time he gave me his gift with no strings attached.
Wooden Spoons
“Mom, you can open your present,” Justin exclaimed, “but only if you promise not to use it on me.” The festive Christmas package, proudly yet childishly wrapped, did little to conceal the shape of the present so carefully chosen by my four-year-old.
Justin’s eyes shone with excitement as he waited for the moment when I would unveil his treasure.
“See, Mom, they’re wooden spoons. You need ’em to cook, but you gotta promise you won’t spank me with ’em.”
I can still see the earnest expression as he offered me his gift — with strings attached. Though I continued, on occasion, to use wooden spoons to lovingly mete out his discipline, I never used those spoons. Now, twenty years later, the spoons are broken, or have been lost in moving.
God offered us His most precious treasure on Christmas morning. He wasn’t brightly wrapped, but Jesus will always be the most perfect gift received. That morning I reached for and opened the package under the tree, just as I accepted God’s salvation. The wooden spoons are only a memory now, but God’s gift is eternal. It cannot be broken, lost, or taken back. There really are no strings attached.
