Operation Christmas Child

Operation Christmas Child is an extraordinary endeavour that it is my great privilege to be a part of here in Australia. It is a simple act of kindness and giving of the sort that truly shakes the foundations of the world. And there is an amazing poignancy in watching the magic unfold.

As part of the life of Samford State School, acts of service and giving are not only encouraged, but built into the curriculum. Operation Christmas Child is one such initiative. For the last few weeks, as we ramp up to Christmas, our school assemblies have been forums in which a deeply touching video from Samaritan's Purse (the organization that oversees Operation Christmas Child) is shown again and again. It shows the amazing joy that comes in the third world with receiving an unexpected and unconditional gift; it shows the happiness, the ecstasy, and the delight that children in deeply underprivileged societies feel when presented with a simple shoebox filled with delights that we, in the first world, take for granted.

And yet, were I administering this project, there is another video that I would make to show people; and it would star my own hero - Bruce.

We are not rich people - Bruce works very hard to earn a decent living for us - and a Chaplain's wages are almost an insult to Christ's own teaching - but there is an incredible "other side" to the story that I think needs to be told as well.

This weekend was Bruce's birthday, and on a day on which we should have been celebrating his special day, we walked into Crazy Clark's (a local discount chain, and one much like "Dollar Stores" everywhere") and I reminded Bruce that we needed to pick up items for our own Operation Christmas Child shoebox.

Bruce was immediately engaged.

"Boy or Girl?" I recall him asking. I told him it really didn't matter as long as the package was filled with age and gender appropriate items.

"Right, then. A boy. " he said, the father of a nine-year-old boy himself. "What do we need?"

"Well," I said, as we steered into the toiletries aisle, "something for personal hygiene. What do you think a boy might like?"

"A toothbrush" came the immediate reply, and I watched as my husband scanned row after row after row of children's toothbrushes to find just the one "a boy" might like.

"How old?" he asked me again. I replied that we could simply decide on say... somewhere between six and nine, and fill the box with suitable items.

"Right," he said, and I watched in amazement he carefully looked over each toothbrush to see if it was not only a "cool" design, but had a head that would fit into the mouth of a little boy that he would never meet. He rejected the "duckies" and the "bunnies" immediately, but gave serious thought to the snakes and robots before finding the exact one he thought a little boy might like.

The toothbrush decided on, he asked what was next. Following Samaritan's Purse guidelines, I said "something to play with". Off to the toy aisle it was, and my suggestion of a selection of "jungle animals" or "dinosaurs" was rejected as being "too lame" for a little boy. So I watched in amazement as Bruce took his time looking over each and every model car before deciding on a replica taxi.

"A taxi?" I asked.

"Well, yes," Bruce replied. "I don't think he'll have TV, so these 'monster trucks' won't mean anything to him; and he probably won't know what these modern, North American cars are. But he'll know what a taxi is, won't he?"

I was deeply moved by the love, care and thought that Bruce put into selecting Christmas gifts for a little boy he'd never know, in a country we may never visit. And as we worked through the list (something to write on and with, something sweet to eat, something to wear and something to love) I had the immense privilege of watching an incredibly loving, giving heart search out just the right coloured paper and pens to draw with; just the right kind of shorts to wear; just the right flavour of lollies a little boy might like... and watching Bruce walk up every aisle and sift through every table of merchandise to find just the right singing toy elephant a little boy might want made me realize that there is so much more to God's giving than meets the eye.

And as we walked out to our shiny, new, less-than-a-week-old car, I told Bruce that I was really touched by his immensely giving heart and caring soul; and his response floored me yet again:

"Baby," he said, "If I could afford to send 30 of these, I would."

And while Bruce is my hero, he's not the only hero out there. In fact, its hero's like him that make Operation Christmas Child the success it is.

And that is the documentary I'd make: not the one that shows the incredible joy of receiving an unexpected and unconditional gift; but one that shows the immense joy in giving it.