With Christmas and the traditional gift giving a few days away, my thoughts this morning went to unexpected gifts. I have received several over the last month, a month that also brought an equal share of unexpected happenings that would not be classified as gifts.

My sister, Sandy, passed away just before midnight on Wednesday, November 27, 2024, the night before Thanksgiving leaving me sans parents and siblings. Though she had struggled  with diabetic complications for years, her death was unexpected. She chose palliative care and given her end stage kidney failure the doctors indicated patients with her condition usually passed away within seven to 14 days.

We moved her to the local hospice facility Wednesday afternoon with that expectation. Thus, my shock and grief when Sandy died within ten hours. Her death was one of life’s both/and occurrences – feeling both the grief of her loss, and thankful she was no longer in pain. That’s a hard one to wrap your head and heart around. I suppose I could claim an unexpected gift in that she did not linger in the throes of renal failure symptoms. Perhaps that is a bit trite, but that is often what we do to stem the tide of grief, at least momentarily. 

A truly unexpected gift was the portrait that a friend drew and sent to me. Opening the large envelope that arrived in the mail, I was overwhelmed with awe, gratitude, and grief. The portrait of Sandy was beautiful. The likeness stunning. My friend’s kindness and thoughtfulness heartwarming. I framed it and displayed it at Sandy’s Celebration of Life. An unexpected gift, most definitely, and a treasure – both friend and portrait — to be cherished. 

Dare I mention the car accident I had two days before Sandy’s memorial. Certainly, an unexpected event as no one intends or expects a car wreak. Lou Anne, my wife, relates a family story in which the police officer told her daughter, “That’s why they are called accidents.” On the upside, neither I nor the other party were seriously injured nor was anyone issued a traffic citation.

However, my car sustained major damage with the cost of repairs surpassing its value – a 17-year old model with 180,000 + miles on it. The unexpected gift being that I managed to sell it rather quickly for salvage, and I now have a newer car with needed safety features. Perhaps the greatest unexpected gift in this situation was a good dose of reality regarding my peripheral vision limitations. Safety features notwithstanding, I must be more cautious.

I sat in the church pew holding the memorial bulletin and still feeling the emotional and physical impact of the accident. Opening the bulletin, my heart clutched in wonder and tears filled my eyes as I read and heard the opening notes of “The Anchor Holds,” one of my favorites. I now know that it was one of Sandy’s as well. Though not familiar with the closing song, “Scars in Heaven,” it was very moving and comforting given Sandy’s multiple scars from surgeries/amputations as well as ample emotional hurts. The large crowd, kind words, and several funny “Sandy Stories” were expected. These songs were unexpected gifts.

Yesterday, finally getting around to a bit of Christmas shopping, I stood in a long checkout line. I was stunned, overwhelmed by the likeness. From the back, the woman in front of me looked just like my sister. The similarity – her hair, her stout build, her stance – was uncanny. Tears filled my eyes as they often have during the last weeks with any thought or mention of Sandy.

I asked Lou Anne if she saw the resemblance. Yes, she had already noticed it. I watched the woman, trying to keep my emotions in check, as we moved forward in the line. She walked out of the store in front of us, again, her walk was so like my sister’s. Hesitant at first, but yielding to the longing, I caught up with her and told her how much she reminded me of my sister who passed away a couple of weeks ago.  

Tears were welling in my eyes. She was kind, gracious, and said, “You need a hug.” I responded, “Yes, I do.” She gave me a warm, long hug. With my arms around her, I was hugging my dear sister, Sandy. How often after the death of a loved one do we long for one more hug or one more day? Well, I got the hug — an unexpected gift! I am thankful to Patty of Mineola for my one more hug from Sandy.

In this season of gift giving — and throughout the New Year — as we observe and celebrate the gift of Jesus, may we pay more attention to and celebrate the large and small, unexpected gifts in our daily lives.