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Josh Knox

Just Joshin' #191 (Gift Exchange)

Published 3 months ago • 5 min read

Family Photo:
Gift Exchange

Our church had a Christmas potluck & gift exchange.

Everyone brought a dish for the potluck and everyone brought a $10 wrapped gift for the gift exchange.

After the potluck, all the gifts were placed on a table, with all the chairs arranged in a circle around the table. The rules were explained:

Everyone gets a raffle ticket to determine selection order. When the first person's ticket is drawn, they select a gift from the table and unwrap it. When everyone else's number is drawn, they can select another wrapped gift from the table OR steal an unwrapped gift from someone else sitting in the circle. If your gift is stolen, you must go back to the table and select another wrapped gift. Each unwrapped gift can be stolen up to three times. We play until everyone gets a gift.

This holiday tradition is so popular that it has it's own Wikipedia page. It's an odd church game though.

Moses walks down the mountain with "thou shalt not steal...though shalt not covet" carved in stone—and a nice church lady walks across the circle addressing a fellow congregant with, "now this is my fleece blanket."

The prophet Isaiah proclaims, "For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given"—and a young teen, when his raffle ticket is drawn, declares to his neighbor, "give me that football."

Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is like a pearl of great price"—and a teacher celebrates with a little dance after unwrapping a Starbucks mug with a gift card inside.

Jesus later says, "I am the light of the world"—and the church circle fills with awe watching the unboxing of a 7,000-lumen flashlight.

--

Implicit messages aside, the gift exchange was a terrific event.

How many large group games can be enjoyed by a church's entire demographic? Kids, teens, parents, and retirees were all laughing throughout the night.

A highlight was when an older gentleman approached the table and opened a bag to find a Just For Men hair treatment routine. He raised his cap to thank whoever in our group might have given the gift—revealing a head as shiny and smooth as an 8-ball.

There was another moment when Lawrence was proudly holding the toy car he'd just stolen from the man on the other side of the circle. The car had only been stolen once, so it was still eligible to be stolen again. A boy almost his same age, accompanied by his mother approached Lawrence. The boy fixed his eyes on the car, and was about to take it, but the mother saw how tightly Lawrence was gripping it, understood the depths of his emotional attachment, and steered her son toward another selection.

Grace personified: I am forever in her debt.

It would have been a Christmas nightmare had Lawrence been separated from that car.

Dad Joke:
Greek Gifts

Source: Nano Banana Pro​

One night last year, when Lawrence had trouble sleeping, I read him the Trojan horse story from a kid's version of the Odyssey. In the morning I asked him about it to see how much he'd remembered.

Me: Lawrence, do you remember the horse story we read last night?
​Lawrence: It was a tricky gift!

Even today, I laugh thinking about the way he smiled when he said that.

Highlights:
Excellent Gift Giver

​How to become a truly excellent gift giver by Eliza Brooke​

It’s a special kind of agony to realize, while exchanging gifts with someone, that they got you something way, way better than what you got them.

More gift-giver excerpts here: #35 - Christmas...my gift to you.

​I Saw the Face of God in a Semiconductor Factory by Virginia Heffernan​

“God is very kind to mankind,” he says again. God’s kindness, the miracle of water, religious euphoria—it swims in the mind like a school of blessed fish. A line from William Blake seems right: To see a World in a Grain of Sand. That’s what we’re here for.

​Fish Cheeks by Amy Tan​

I fell in love with the minister’s son the winter I turned fourteen. He was not Chinese, but as white as Mary in the manger. For Christmas I prayed for this blond-haired boy, Robert, and a slim new American nose.
​
When I found out that my parents had invited the minister’s family over for Christmas Eve dinner, I cried. What would Robert think of our shabby Chinese Christmas? What would he think of our noisy Chinese relatives who lacked proper American manners? What terrible disappoint-ment would he feel upon seeing not a roasted turkey and sweet potatoes but Chinese food?
​
On Christmas Eve I saw that my mother had outdone herself in creating a strange menu. She was pulling black veins out of the backs of fleshy prawns. The kitchen was littered with appalling mounds of raw food: A slimy rock cod with bulging eyes that pleaded not to be thrown into a pan of hot oil. Tofu, which looked like stacked wedges of rubbery white sponges. A bowl soaking dried fungus back to life. A plate of squid, their backs crisscrossed with knife markings so they resembled bicycle tires.
​
And then they arrived – the minister’s family and all my relatives in a clamor of doorbells and rumpled Christmas packages. Robert grunted hello, and I pretended he was not worthy of existence.
​
Dinner threw me deeper into despair. My relatives licked the ends of their chopsticks and reached across the table, dipping them into the dozen or so plates of food. Robert and his family waited patiently for platters to be passed to them. My relatives murmured with pleasure when my mother brought out the whole steamed fish. Robert grimaced. Then my father poked his chopsticks just below the fish eye and plucked out the soft meat. “Amy, your favorite,” he said, offering me the tender fish cheek. I wanted to disappear.
​
At the end of the meal my father leaned back and belched loudly, thanking my mother for her fine cooking. “It’s a polite Chinese custom to show you are satisfied,” explained my father to our astonished guests. Robert was looking down at his plate with a reddened face. The minister managed to muster up a quiet burp. I was stunned into silence for the rest of the night.
​
After everyone had gone, my mother said to me, “You want to be the same as American girls on the outside.” She handed me an early gift. It was a miniskirt in beige tweed. “But inside you must always be Chinese. You must be proud you are different. Your only shame is to have shame.”
​
And even though I didn’t agree with her then, I knew that she understood how much I had suffered during the evening’s dinner. It wasn’t until many year later – long after I had gotten over my crush on Robert – that I was able to fully appreciate her lesson and the true purpose behind our particular menu. For Christmas Eve that year, she had chosen all my favorite foods.

iamJoshKnox Highlights:

In The Bleak Midwinter | Christina Rosetti

video preview​

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Josh Knox

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