I felt unappreciated and worn down even though it was Christmas time.

The Christmas season had been a hard one.

I was glad to see the year end. It had been a strange one, full of events, hardships, sadness, and too few joys. The year had dispensed hurtful disappointments. Now it was ending—and none too soon, either.

Why did I have to feel this way? It seemed as if my spunkiness had gone down the drain, so to speak. My energy bank was depleted. My reserves spent. It was that time of year. I was putting a brave face on it but fissures in my exterior paint were showing evidence of wear and tear. A facade is only a facade, after all.

Feelings of sadness were awash over me.

Discouragement beset me. According to my earlier projections, it was disappointing. This wasn’t where I had hoped to be at this point in my life. I was trying to get a second career launched, with a writing and a care ministry for hurting women but all I encountered was wall after wall. I couldn’t seem to interest the people I needed to interest. Rejection has a way of pulling your spirits down until you sink like a puddle on the floor.

Outside circumstances compiled: a difficult, heartbreaking church transition, adjusting to the dimension that aging parents requires, friends with needs, the shuttering of a women’s ministry dear to my heart, being misunderstood by people I cared about, an inability to get my writing off the ground, and a daughter trying to figure it out—all taking a toll. Enough is enough, I thought.

I had hoped for more.

I had prayed for more. Yet ‘more’ had evaded me. Now there were new and bigger pressures. My time was compromised with endless doings. I wished for alone time. Time to sort it out, time with God, time to heal and breathe.

The desire for escape would rush at me, stop me, and take me back to years before where in my desert dark, unhappy events had isolated me from healing streams. I remembered its woeful tune, how hard it had been. No, I’m not going there. I never want to go there again, my heart cried that lonely Christmas morning. The tears had been unstoppable at times, when I was by myself. My inner misery took the ‘merry’ out of Christmas and the joy out of family gatherings.

At the end of the day, my family was saying our goodbyes in the kitchen at my folks’ house when my adult niece came over to me, a wrapped package in hand. She smiled at me; her eyes all a twinkle.

“This is for you, Aunt Norma,” she said.

I didn’t know why she was giving me something. We hadn’t done a gift exchange that Christmas. I carefully opened the gift. Inside was an antique-styled Scentsy, one of those delightful plug-in warmers, a wickless candle that holds scented fragrant waxes. Something that would look nice in my house. Her gift was feminine and sweet-looking—pink with scrolling rose and leaf designs. I loved it. I looked up and thanked her.

I paused for a second; then from my heart, I said, “I feel loved.”

And I did feel loved. Tears brimmed as we hugged. My heart healed a little bit that moment. Her gift, and the love behind it, met my internal need to feel special, wanted, and loved. I had been on empty but now love filled me.

How did she know I was in need of a loving gesture that day?

She didn’t know, but it meant so very, very much to this sad heart of mine that day. My niece got it right. Her giving me that gift at that specific time was one of those divinely orchestrated providential times where one heart ministers to another at just the perfect moment. I am grateful for the gift, the Scentsy Warmer, and grateful for the giver—my niece, dear gentle Annie, and grateful for the divine Giver—Jesus, the reason for the season, the Gift of gifts to every one of us.

A loving gift speaks to the heart. My niece blessed me with her heart.

* * *

I wish you well on your spiritual journey.