Unexpected Christmas Gift

It was a few days past Christmas, and I was taking advantage of the after-Christmas sales. My basket was full of wrapping paper and boxes for the next year as I made my way up and down the aisles. I was searching not just for wrapping paper but also for items for our new tree. It wasn’t a replacement tree, but an additional one that let us make the most of the high ceilings in our new home.

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At more than nine feet tall, the new tree reached higher than any we’d ever had. It soared nearly to the top of the ceiling. The thousands of lights twinkled and danced, delighting Grace, our eleven-year-old daughter. Even though we had plenty of ornaments we’d collected over the years, we still had room to add a few more on the new tree. The new tree didn’t even have a tree topper yet. As I rounded the corner of the next aisle, I saw a few shelves of toppers that would be perfect.

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Amid the stars and Santas, my eye was drawn to an angel. She was lying on her side and turned away from me, but I could see the wings made of feathers on her back and flowing white dress. At eighteen inches tall, I knew she would be perfect for the new tree. I checked her delicate face for breaks and her dress for tears, and placed her in my shopping cart.

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This Christmas had been unusual, and I was still struggling with a bad mood as I shopped. Traveling over Christmas to visit our oldest son was exciting but tiring, and took us out of our routine. As a military family, we were used to adapting as our Christmases changed from year to year. What made this one significant, however, was that our oldest was beginning his life away from us. Gone were days of a little boy in snowman pajamas. Now a young man was making his own way and establishing his own traditions.

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Regardless of where we lived or where were visiting, Christmas was our favorite time of year, and my husband and I went all out on decorating the house. We loved a kitchen full of cookies, a room full of family, and a tree full of lights. I had come by it naturally since my dad loved Christmas more than any holiday. One of his favorite things to do was play jokes on us by wrapping up rocks or things he found around the house, keeping us from correctly guessing what was under the tree. His eyes would shine as we’d realize the box we were certain held something fun held an old flashlight wrapped in a pair of socks.

 

Even as he aged, Daddy still loved Christmas. As his health started to decline, each Christmas had been tinged with the thought that it might be the last we shared with him. Eventually, we did celebrate our last Christmas with him, though none of us knew it at the time.

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The day after he died was a beautiful, sunny day in May. We sat on our back porch with our closest friends, watching six-year-old Grace play in the yard. Although it was officially spring, the trees and flowers were just starting to bloom in Alabama that year. The nights were still cool, and the color wasn’t quite full yet. Despite that, as Grace stood in the yard, she became surrounded by butterflies. She stood still, arms extended, as dozens of butterflies circled her, landing on her arms, nose, and hair. On her face was a sweet look, not quite a smile but clearly content.

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“Grace,” I said with what was probably my first smile in days. “Where did all those butterflies come from?”

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In her six-year-old, matter-of-fact way, she immediately replied, “They’re from Grandpa because he loves me.”

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It was her absolute certainty that struck me. This sweet, little girl was able to experience love in a time of loss that I hadn’t been able to grasp yet. I knew, right then, that the God who created the universe was the same God who gave a beautiful gift to Grace. He let a little girl know her Grandpa loved her when he couldn’t tell her himself.

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A friend cried when I told her this story. She recounted how, to Native Americans, butterflies represented messages from loved ones who had passed away. Some people scoffed at the idea that God would send butterflies as a message from heaven. I knew, however, that a God who loved us enough to send His son to the world at Christmas loved us enough to cheer a little girl’s heart. It hadn’t been just Grace who was comforted by this unexpected expression; it was all of us.

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In the years since Daddy died, butterflies became symbolic. When I saw a butterfly in a garden or flying nearby, I felt a wave of thankfulness. It was a reminder that God and Daddy loved us. As the years slipped by, the loss hurt less, and I grew to appreciate those reminders more.

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By this Christmas, he had been gone five years. I wished he’d been there to see my children grow up. He had been absent for a high-school and college graduation, swim teams, triathlons, marching bands and a host of other rites of passage. He was never far from my mind. I missed unimportant conversations as much as seeking his company at times when I needed to be reminded how much I was loved.

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Since we traveled for Christmas, I felt off-kilter. Our suitcases were still not unpacked, I hadn’t prepared a big Christmas meal, and I needed to wrap the rest of our gifts. We had to celebrate before our youngest son headed to Florida with his university’s marching band. I wasn’t feeling any Christmas spirit. We hadn’t done our usual traditions. Coupled with the exhaustion from traveling across country, I was emotional and tired.

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I unpacked my shopping bags and called to my husband as I reached for the angel tree topped. I grasped her from the bottom, bringing her up out of the bag.

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“She’s beautiful,” he said.

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I turned her toward me to make sure she had made the trip unharmed and fluff up her dress before we put her atop the new tree. No one, including me, expected the tears that sprang to my eyes. I took a long look at her and wondered how I could have missed it, especially since it wasn’t something we usually associate with Christmas.

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The angel in my hand held something in her hand, too.

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It was a tiny, delicate butterfly. The tiredness and crankiness left me, and a sense of peace washed over me. My gift that Christmas was knowing God loved me enough to provide a special way to tell me my daddy loved me, too.