HELP UNWRAP THE GIFT TODAY !

The Sunday Christmas worship service had concluded and we rushed upstairs to our quarters, grabbed our luggage and set off for JFK airport in New York. Nine hours later our family of six landed in a dark and snowy Stockholm, Sweden. It was then into a rented car and a four hour drive north to our little family farm purchased five years earlier. The main house had sat empty for many months so the heating was turned up full and both fireplaces set ablaze.

Family tradition demanded that on Christmas Eve we find a few lonely persons and invite them to join us at the Christmas table. This year was no different, and here it was, mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve, already dark at 3.00pm and bitterly cold. Where might I find some lonely soul to share a meal with us? Last year it was easy, we had 19 homeless persons living with us in our ‘home’. Our quarters was on the building and the homeless lived in the HL room. The year before was a matter of going to Grand Central Station and bringing home a handful of people. In the years before Officership it was inviting one or two of the poor families my children knew from school but this year would be different. (as this is being typed on Dec 23, 2008, a homeless person is sharing tea with Glad in our living room; it’s not our private home, it’s the army’s !)

I returned to the car and brushed off the fast accumulating snow, and with my high beams on began the drive down a lonely snowy and very empty road. I drove through our village and all the doors of the homes were closed tight against the cold. Candles were lit in the windows with wax canisters burning bright to highlight the boundaries of people's driveway. I sensed it was hopeless in this, the world’s most developed country boasting the highest standard of living anywhere to find someone needing an invite to dinner. Yet, I continued my drive and was soon in the country on another deserted road when I spotted a figure leaning into the windblown flurries. I slowed down, stopped and lowered my window to see who it might be. To my surprise it was Sweden’s most celebrated artist, the painter Bengt Engman, a man whose biography I had read just hours ago in the Scandinavian Airline’s in-flight magazine. He peered in the window and wished me ‘GLAD JUL’; ‘Happy Christmas’ in Swedish He was several kilometers from his home, by now a well known landmark and tourist attraction and far from the nearest farm. I asked him where he was headed and he said ‘just out for a stroll’. I thought for certain that he’d have Christmas Eve plans but decided to ask anyway, ‘Are you going anywhere for Christmas Eve dinner tonight?’ He repled that ‘No I’ve not been invited by anyone’. ‘Well you are now’, I said; ‘Get in and let’s go to our home’. He got in and that’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing any socks, only a pair of shoes now filled with snow. He said he’d like to change into something more proper and asked if we could call at his house. We did so and he returned within minutes now wearing socks and a colorful bow tie. It occurred to me that he’d not been invited to share dinner with anyone because someone as famous as he would probably be dining at the Royal Palace with HRH the King!

On arriving back at the farm, candles were lit and the house aglow with the familiar sights and sounds of Christmas. My wife and four children were thrilled to have such a celebrated person joining us for our Christmas Eve smorgasbord.

After a brief prayer we asked Bengt to tell us a bit about himself. He was in his 50’s now but shared that he had grown up in the village of Vansbro and there, been active in the Corps and enrolled as a Junior Soldier. His love for the Army remained strong throughout the years and the spiritual lessons he learned there remained with him throughout life. Most of his paintings depicted religious scenes including one that hangs in the Corps hall in Vansbro. It depicts a Salvationist entering heaven, and when presented with his robes of white, he asks St. Peter, after removing his tunic, if he might keep his Guernsey on, ‘it’s stained from tears shed at the mercy seat praying with lost souls and also soiled while worn in doing the Master’s work on earth. It’s a symbol of my life’s devotion and I’d like to keep it if I may…” The masthead on the painting reads; ‘WILL THERE BE ANY STARS IN THE CROWN I RECEIVE WHEN ENTERING HEAVEN’S GATE…

Following our meal it was time to exchange presents. In that we never knew in advance who our Christmas guest might be we always purchased generic gifts that would be appropriate for either male or female. Bengt apparently didn’t expect anything at all and was particularly gleeful when he was handed four neatly gift-wrapped presents. He opened them excitedly and shared effusive thanks with us all. He then carefully re-wrapped each present, using the creases already in the wrapping paper and re-tying the ribbons on each. I was confused. Was he intending to return the presents to us? I asked Bengt why he had re-wrapped the presents so carefully. He said it was a family tradition and that the presents would be re-opeened on Christmas day and again re-wrapped. He would repeat the process each day until New Year’s day. He said ‘this way I can relive the excitement of Christmas each day for a full week.'

I thought to myself what an appropriate analogy Bengt’s actions represented. We who know the true reason for Christmas giving ought to take to heart the lesson, opening the gift of God’s love anew each and every day of the year.

There is someone waiting for you to present and unwrap God’s precious gift today. Go ahead; share the excitement! Happy Christmas!

Sven Ljungholm
Former Officer
USA East
SA soldier
Exeter, UK