When I was very young, my dad worked for a small, rural hospital in a town in the middle of Michigan. I loved going to visit where he worked. My dad looked so cool in his white coat, and I could tell from the way everyone treated us that he was well-respected and liked. I also liked that the hospital had a television–something my family did not possess–and if I was lucky, I would catch a glimpse of the American western show, Gunsmoke.

At the hospital, Dad always took us to see Miss Ruth, the radiologist. She seemed happy enough to see us, but we weren’t so sure about her. Miss Ruth worked with X-rays, she was very smart, and she was a bit scary. She was tall and broad-shouldered with a strong jaw and a gruff voice, and her laugh seemed a little strange to us kids. She was also liberal with the sarcasm. On the other hand, she did let us try on the lead vests and peek at the big machines, and it was interesting to listen to her and my dad talk about the fascinating black and white photos they clipped into the light boards.

I didn’t have much of a concept of economics at that young age, and my parents tried to shield us from the impact of the downturn that hit Michigan. It was only much later that I found out that the hospital had stopped paying my dad regularly. What I did notice was that there was less food in the cupboard, and as Christmas rolled around, my mom started warning us that there weren’t going to be a lot of gifts this year.

The week before Christmas, my parents got a letter postmarked from Canada with some money from Grandma, and that evening we all piled into the car to go shop for presents. Gas to the big town with the shopping center would cut into the carefully calculated budget so the local hardware store would be the source of our all our gifts. We could each spend $1.50 on everyone else in the family, and we could pool our money with other members to purchase someone a larger gift if we wanted. There was a small section for toys, and there were tools and kitchen supplies we could hunt through for Mom and Dad. With our purchases carefully in hand, we headed home to wrap them and wait for Christmas.

The sun sets pretty early in the Michigan winter, and we were wrapping up dinner in the dark when lights from a car flashed across the living room window. Someone was pulling into our driveway. My brother beat me to the door as a car rumbled down the long, gravel driveway and came to a stop. It was Miss Ruth.

She stepped climbed out of the car and strode towards our front door, lugging great big garbage bags. You of course know what was in those bags, but we were too stunned to know what was going on. Miss Ruth was laughing that same laugh. Somehow it didn’t seem so strange anymore. Out of those bags, came the presents–boxes and boxes. I still remember two gifts from the bounty she poured onto our living room floor. One was a large red car that would race across the floor when you pressed the back down. The other was a hand-painted pet rock (my Dad refused to allow any pets in those days).  

You can imagine how much our opinion of Miss Ruth changed. How much she loved us was clearly written in the litter of wrapping paper scattered carpeting our floor. She had been wanting to invite us over to her house to check out her collection of films on laserdisc, an invitation which we happily accepted. Now there was no hesitation whenever we returned to the hospital for a visit. We headed straight for radiology, where Aunt Ruth greeted us with her delightful laugh and broad smile.

Whenever I think back to the memory of Ruth walking toward our house that cold December evening, I can’t help but see the image of Christ strolling toward our front door. A lot of people thought–and still think–that God is a little weird and strange and at the very least far, far away. But God so loved this world and the people in it that He gave his only son to us so that we could see who God really is. As we give gifts to one another this season, we act out in small ways this Divine love. In the giving and receiving we can be reminded that, like a certain radiologist from mid-Michigan, Heaven loves us, wants to spend time with us, and has a wonderful laugh.