One year, I believe I was sixteen, on the night of December 13th (the night to begin the knock and run tradition each year) there was a knock on our door. One of my siblings answered it, and said, "Taffy, there's something here for you." I went to see and was surprised and excited to find a small gift with a note from my very own secret friend. Although I had done this tradition for others for a few years, and was currently doing it for a friend, I never imagined somebody would do it for me. I knew right away that this was going to be such a great Christmas!
I was always the kind of kid that couldn't help but snoop around near Christmas, trying to find my mom's hiding places. I ruined more than one Christmas for myself because of this impatience. So it was no surprise that I just HAD to find out who my secret friend was. I had a couple guesses, but I wanted to find out for sure. So every evening after basketball practice, I would sit in the living room and wait, ready to jump up to the door as soon as I heard the knock. I would wait and wait, and finally, when I had left the room to help my mom with something or go to the bathroom, the knock would come. By the time I made it to the door, I was too late. This became very frustrating after a few nights, and I commented to several family members that it felt like my secret friend must be watching my every move somehow.
Christmas Eve finally came, the night for my secret friend to leave the final gift. I was super determined to not let them get away this time. They had made my Christmas so exciting and special that year, and I just had to know who it was so I could thank them. When that familiar knock came, I jumped up to the door. I was actually in the room this time! When I opened the door, my 10-year-old brother was standing on the step with a gift in his hands and a grin on his face. At first, I thought it was some kind of joke. And then it registered. My secret friend really had been watching my every move. He really did know the moment that I left the room, because he had been there with me. It was my brother all along! Of course, my family was all in on the secret and had had so much fun helping him come up with gifts and not get caught by someone who was very determined to do so.
As I looked at him with that big smile on his face, I was overwhelmed with the realization of how much he loved me, even though I wasn't very deserving. He may have been a pesky little brother at times, but I had not treated him with much kindness. I had been bossy, condescending, and sometimes just plain mean to him. And he loved me anyway.
In the days and years that passed after this favorite Christmas of mine, I have often reflected on this experience and on the love of a brother for me. But as I have pondered on it, I realize that in that moment on the front porch that night I felt a love even greater. The love of another brother of mine. He loved me so much that He suffered for my sins--for my bossy, condescending, and sometimes just plain mean behaviors. I felt the true spirit of Christmas, the whole point of it all. His birth would mean nothing if it wasn't for His great love for each of us--a love that led our brother to take all our pain, all our sorrow, and all our sins on himself, and then die and rise again, granting us all, no matter how undeserving, the greatest gifts we could ever receive.
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