Thoughtful gifts...

There have been times I have been surprised by the thought some people put behind the gifts they give.

An example: A few years ago, I was very sad cause my dear friend and her family moved away. I made mention to another friend (LB) about how I stop at Starbucks every morning for a grande, non-fat, no foam latte and how somehow, that makes me feel a little better. A little less sad. Starbucks is "comfort food" for me. Well, a few days later, I received a Starbucks gift card that covered my lattes for well over a month (that's a lot of money). I was surprised -- yes, by LB's generosity, but more so, I was amazed by her thoughtfulness... because what she gave to me was comfort.

Another example: A few weeks ago, I received a gift (not for me, but for my friend Bobby). It was a Saint Benedict crucifix meant to bring comfort to those who are dying. It brought me a great deal of comfort too.

So, this morning I walk into the office to find a very large box on my desk. It was Fed-Exed and marked with a sticker that read, “Special Delivery Instructions: This package contains ALCOHOL. Adult signature required. Check ID. Do not deliver to an intoxicated person.” Much to my delight, inside the box were two six packs of beer! It was sent to me by a business partner. Thanking me for seeing the value in our partnership. It’s not odd to receive gifts from business partners. Not even alcoholic gifts. What was oddly cool was that she remembered (I guess) that I love beer. It was thoughtful. It couldn’t have come at a better time. It will bring me comfort.

Where is God?

From C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed:

"No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.
...

"Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be -- or so it feels -- welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is he so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?

I am reminded that the same thing seems to have happened to Christ: 'Why hast thou forsaken me?' I know. Does that make it easier to understand?"