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Shop ’Til You Drop

WE’VE JUST SURVIVED the busiest shopping day of the year.

Of course, I’m using the word “we” loosely, referring to American womankind in general. This is because braving the mall on the day after Thanksgiving ranks somewhere, on my personal list of favorite things to do, between getting a root canal and fishing a toddler’s favorite stuffed animal out of the toilet.

I know that some women thrive on mass shopping frenzies, but I’m not one of them. Maybe it’s because I usually begin the day thinking I’m one of the sharks and end up feeling more like the bait.

I’m convinced there are spiritual grounds for not going shopping the day after Thanksgiving. After all, isn’t there a verse somewhere that promises rest for those who have labored and are heavy laden? By the time Thanksgiving is over, I’ve not only labored hard, but I’m feeling pretty heavily laden with all the stuffing and pumpkin pie I’ve just consumed. I feel like I’ve earned a rest. I am not inclined to wake up at daybreak on Friday morning with an insatiable desire to haul my tired, bloated body through hordes of crazed holiday shoppers.

Oh sure, once in awhile I find myself feeling seduced by the notion of saving money at all the first big Christmas sales, but I’ve learned how to resist temptation. My strategy for getting safely through the Nation’s Favorite Shopping Day is to put my credit cards and car keys under lock and key—and then swallow the key. This means there’s no possible way I can answer the call of the mall until sometime the following morning or after a trip to the emergency room, whichever occurs first.

I realize I’m missing out on some really good sales.

But think of all the money I’m saving on stress therapy.

Of course, Christmas shopping is stressful even without the crowds. This is because it requires finding The Perfect Gift for roughly four dozen family members, intimate friends, business associates, acquaintances and near strangers, not to mention the couple that has been sending fruitcake for years despite the fact you have no earthly idea where you met them or who they are.

Sometimes I long for a good old-fashioned Walton Christmas. You know, the kind where you give someone an apple or wooden whistle and they go into cardiac arrest from sheer ecstasy.

Of course, I can’t say for certain which is the more difficult task: Finding The Perfect Gift for friends and family . . . or dropping hints to help my husband shop for me.

One year for our anniversary Larry bought me a nightgown. You’re probably thinking, So far so good . . .

He bought it from The Disney Store.

The front of the gown featured a life-sized illustration of Rafiki. (Just in case you don’t have children, or you have children but have spent the past five years living on Mars, Rafiki is the wizened old baboon guru in the Disney movie The Lion King.)

But perhaps the most intriguing part of the gift was the matching pair of socks that looked like baboon feet.

Now, if the love of your life has never given you a pair of knitted baboon feet, you probably don’t know the true meaning of the phrase “Academy Award–winning performance.” I’ll bet Meryl Streep couldn’t have feigned a more convincing performance of ecstatic gratitude, although I think I could have gushed far more convincingly over just about anything else, including an apple or a wooden whistle.

In other words, I tried to appear grateful, but I don’t think I did a very good job because Larry figured out right away that I wasn’t too crazy about the gift. He’s pretty astute about these things. Of course, it’s possible that I tipped him off. I think it happened right after I opened the box, right about the moment I blurted, “Ahh . . . I hope you kept the receipt.”

Okay, so maybe I’m an ingrate. Apparently I not only keep my eyes peeled for The Perfect Gift when I’m shopping for my friends and family, but I also look for it when unwrapping presents addressed to me.

Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place.

The Bible tells me that “every good and perfect gift comes from above.”

Oh, sure, I’ll be the first to admit that the Lord has sent a few things into my life that I’d love to return. There are times I take an initial look and blurt, “Ahh, God, I hope you kept the receipt . . .” But hindsight usually shows me that what he gave was exactly what I needed after all. There are even a few gifts that I suspect will require the kind of hindsight I can only get in heaven. Who knows? Those might turn out to be the most perfect gifts of all.

I’m learning to trust the Giver, even when I don’t always understand the gifts.

Most of the time, however, the gifts he gives exceed my wildest hopes and dreams.

The fact is that God’s gifts—unlike the purchases of harried Christmas shoppers, well-meaning husbands, and other mere mortals—are never the wrong size, color, or pattern.

It’ll be interesting to see what gifts he has in store for me this coming year. Although I don’t mind admitting that, if I have my druthers, baboon socks won’t be anywhere on the list.