As a child, my siblings and I eagerly anticipated Christmas. Poring through the Sears catalogue, we wrote our letters to Santa and composed our lists to give to him when we sat on his lap at the department store. Coming down the stairs on Christmas morning we spotted our stockings hanging at the fireplace and saw the gifts scattered around the living room—piles for the six of us! Although some of us would count the number of gifts in the piles to judge if there was a fair distribution, generally those concerns were lost amid the noisy ripping of paper and excitement over an unexpected toy or groans bemoaning clothing.

These were the days of gifts easily defined by boxes and wrapping paper.

But there were other gifts we received over the years that, in the moment, we never would have described as gifts. As children, the gifts we receive are ours even as our delight also brings joy to the giver. But what if, even though we are the recipients, the gift is meant for others?

As a child in the third grade, I developed a stutter that worsened in subsequent years. I remember as an eighth grader being sent with a message for the fifth-grade teacher. As I struggled to get the words out, I remember all the fifth-grade kids laughing at me. The teacher yelled at me to “spit it out” and scolded the children for laughing. It was horrible. Later the seminary threatened to put me out, even though I was an honor student, because my stuttering would cause “mockery” of the Eucharist. While in the seminary chapel I poured out my heart to God asking why I had to suffer in this way. Fortunately, I met a speech therapist in the seminary and three Missionhurst missionaries at my deacon assignment in South Philadelphia who helped me.