It was a different holiday season for the DeMuth family. Not horrible. Not melancholy. Just different. Nothing is familiar here. Even the stores are hard to navigate. Locating things has been a chore. Finding Christmas in France has been a bit of an illusion sometimes.
But, I’ve had my Christmas.
“I had a vision,” the man told me on the phone.
“Really?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “You were in your kitchen, chopping, chopping, chopping. Tomatoes, bread, everything. I saw you throw up your hands, knives flying. Then I heard the word Kitchenaide. Does that mean anything to you?”
I laughed. “Um, well, I suppose.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, I have missed my Kitchenaide.”
“It’s settled then,” he said. “We’re coming over tonight, bringing you and Patrick ice cream sundae fixings . . . and then tomorrow we’re taking you shopping–for a Kitchenaide.”
“What?”
“See you in a little bit,” he said.
They did bring ice cream. And nuts. And whipped cream. And sprinkles. We talked while we ate, topping the evening off with a long period of prayer–a true blessing.
The next day, true to their word, they took me to the appliance store. The red Kitchenaide I had visited on several occasions was still there, beckoning. “This is too expensive,” I told them.
“You want red?” he asked.
“Yeah, but, it’s really expensive.”
“Please let us do this, Mary,” his wife said. “We enjoy doing this.”
That night, I carried home a red Kitchenaide–a present of spectacular extravagance from the hands of Jesus through a generous and kind couple. When I look at that gift, I smile, knowing that Jesus loves me enough to take care of trivial matters, like missing a beloved appliance. He sees me. He watches over me. He knows me.
His grace is extravagant, outlandish, surprising, humbling. I thank our two friends for tangibly demonstrating that to me this Christmas.
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