As I have whined about in previous posts, we did not expect or get much by way of extravagant Christmas presents when we were young.  A new pair of leather logger boots was a wonderful gift.  We did get some small toys every year as well.  My older brother got a big Erector Set one year. He made cool things with it.  We got a large leather working kit one year to share between the kids.  Mom was working part time at Tandy Leather at the time, and I assume she got a good discount.
And sometimes I was surprised.

When I was 9, I awoke to find a real, flying model airplane under the tree.  With "Ricky" on the tag!  How cool was that!  It was a WWII fighter of some sort-I did not know all the WW II planes and models-even though my generation was still greatly influenced by WWII when we were in elementary school.  It had only been a decade or so before, after all.

My plane was made of fairly sturdy plastic and had a real gas engine that ran!  On real model airplane hobby fuel!  And-it had a duel-line control attached to it.  That meant you could really fly it.
Now, it was not a cool RC model plane like they have now.  This had an engine that you would have someone start while you stood 20 feet away holding onto the control handle with the lines from the handle to the plane.
When the engine got up to speed, you would start turning in a circle holding your arm outstretched to the plane, keeping up with the plane's speed.  As it got to take off speed, you would tilt the control handle back slightly and the plane would nose up and become airborne!
It was wonderfully cool.  We would go (with the biggest kid-Dad-of course) to Madison Elementary playground-a large expanse of asphalt-to fly the plane.  While the plane was in wondrous flight-going around in circles at the end of the line in my hand, I could make it climb and dive by changing the angle of the control handle.

One thing to be careful of-you always wanted to land before you ran out of fuel, so you could control the descent.  An uncontrolled descent into the asphalt surface of Madison Elementary would not be a good thing for the airplane.

Of course, my brothers wanted to fly my plane as well.  Having Steve, my younger brother, fly it was totally out of the question.  He was a whole 1 year, 364 days younger than I.  No way would I let such a youngster fly my plane.  Steve was also the most accident-prone of us, and I didn't him to inflict this disorder on my wonderful flying airplane.

Now, Randy, my 2 1/2 year older brother, was a different story.  He was the natural mechanic in the family-could build and fix things.  So it was assumed that he was always good with mechanical contraptions.  But I knew better.  I knew he could be a bit unfocused at times.  Except when watching our old TV.  Another story for another time.
Randy convinced me to let him fly my plane one day.  I cautioned him, as much as a younger brother can try to caution an older one-so not much-to be careful with his climbs and dives, because it was easy to overdo either one, and to be sure to land before he ran out of fuel.  He assured me that he knew what he was doing.  He was, after all, the oldest brother.

I got the plane filled with fuel and started the little engine, then watched as my older brother started slowly turning in circles until he got the plane off the ground.
It was a wonderful sense to have that plane tugging at the end of the line, knowing you were flying it up and down, in control.  Almost as good as the feeling of a fish on the end of your fishing line.
I watched as Randy flew my months-old plane up and down, his face a picture of enjoyment as the little airplane engine whined and the plane soared.
Then he started climbing a little higher than I was comfortable with-and diving a little too steeply for my stomach.  I believe I hollered at him (we did a bit of hollering back then) to be careful. Just as he took it into a too-steep dive.

I don't recall if the little engine ran out of fuel, or if the dive was just too steep, but the end result was a smoking pile of plane rubbish on Madison Elementary's playground between the monkey bars and the four-square grids.  OK-maybe it wasn't smoking and flaming, but it was.....broken.  Beyond repair.  And we did not have the luxury of being able to replace such an extravagant gift from Santa.

As I have aged (sounds like fancy cheese), I have grown to realize that all the "things" we get for Christmas-even the best, most wonderful "things" won't last forever.  Or we won't be awed by them forever.  Some will be broken-beyond repair.
But those things that matter most, like kindness and caring, can last forever and not be broken.  And can "awe" us (I know that is not a verb...) (I think) all of our lives.

And, when we have parts of us that we think our broken beyond repair, when we are discouraged or disappointed,  or lonely, or left out, or feel forgotten--when our hearts seem broken-and there seems to be times in life for all of us when these things happen-we can be repaired!  And we can be repaired to be Better Than New!
Because of the Gift we all have access to.  Him who Father gave to us, and we celebrate at this time of year.  What a wonderful arrangement.  We give Him our heart, He fixes it, better than new, and then we are able to help Him serve and bless those around us.  And it doesn't take "things".  Time, caring, effort, reaching out, empathy and love will do.
I hope we can remember, at those times when we crash into the asphalt, to look with Hope to Him whose work and life it is to heal us.  Especially this time of year.