Very Hard To Buy For

On failing to let Him love me

Last year for Christmas my husband bought me a gold necklace with a gold charm. I’ve worn it practically every day since. On the charm is the letter “V.” Everyone asks what it stands for, and every time I say, “It all began with a fight…”

(Technically it begins with a sweatshirt return at a store with a no returns policy.)

The morning is cold and sunny. Christmas shoppers bustle on the busy city sidewalks of Bentonville, Arkansas. Bentonville is one of those precious towns you think maybe only exists on TV shows like Gilmore Girls or Wanda Vision. There’s a square with a fountain, an ice cream parlor on the corner across from the taco restaurant, a coffee shop, and the cutest little boutiques. These boutiques are the kinds of places where I LOVE to spend thirty minutes wandering around picking things up and putting things down. I do not actually buy things, because I am not rich.

On this morning my family is in one of these shops, and I am holding the softest cream sweatshirt in the most perfect cropped cut. It is vanilla bean ice cream and baby lamb’s wool and a cloud and somehow also absolutely fierce. It is everything I have ever wanted in a sweatshirt. My husband Justin is standing next to me, and my adoration spills over onto him. I say, “I love this sweatshirt. It is the Platonic ideal of a sweatshirt.”

And then, a few minutes later, I walk outside having purchased nothing. Obviously.

But then, as I’m standing outside, I realize Justin is still inside. And if I have beaten Justin out of this store there can only be one explanation: He is buying me the sweatshirt for Christmas.

Maybe you’re thinking, “Oh, that’s sweet.” And maybe it is sweet. But I am not thinking it’s sweet. I’m remembering the price tag and thinking only a lunatic would pay that much for a sweatshirt. I grab my daughter by the arm and send her back in. “Make sure your dad knows not to buy me that sweatshirt.”

She comes back out: “I think he bought it. And he’s mad.”

When Justin emerges from the store, he carries a small bag. I’m relieved because a sweatshirt cannot fit in that bag but perhaps a necklace could, and I’ve asked for an affordable necklace for Christmas. Yay!

But Justin is not relieved. He’s fuming.

“Why could you not just let me buy that sweatshirt?” He doesn’t say it tenderly.

He goes on to say that the store does not “do” returns, only exchanges—even when your wife has changed your mind 12 seconds after your purchase.

“Why do you have to be so relentlessly specific?” he asks, simultaneously crestfallen and empowered. “It’s like you have one perfect thing in mind, something practical and affordable and exactly what you’ve decided you need, and if I don’t guess right I must not love you. If I guess wrong, I’ve wasted money and you hate it when I waste money, and so I must not love you. And even it’s a perfect gift, something you adore, if I spend too much, it’s all wrong—I clearly don’t love you.”

He shakes his head. “Why do you always making giving you gifts so difficult?”

He says all of this on a crowded street corner. I’m not sure what I say in response, but it is not apologetic; nor is it quiet. People gawk (covertly, of course, because this is the south and we are not blatantly rude, only secretly rude). Justin and I are not accustomed to arguing on street corners, but here we are, arguing on a street corner. Eventually I say something like, “I’m sure I’ll like what you bought.”

That’s when he shoves the bag my way and tells me exactly what’s inside. It’s the stupid necklace I wanted, but they didn’t have my initial. He bought a V instead.

He says it stands for “VERY hard to buy for.”

-

Like I said at the start, I’ve worn that necklace now for precisely one year.

I wore the necklace, because I liked the way it looked. It was the perfect size, perfect shade of gold, and perfect price (it’s actually that gold filled/gold vermeil metal that’s both cheap and doesn’t tarnish). I also wore the necklace, because my husband and I rarely ever fight (never on street corners) and, looking back on it, the novelty of arguing like Rory and Dean in front of Luke’s Diner made me laugh. I wore it because the story was funny, funny to remember and funny to tell. I probably told that story 25 times this year.

But then today in the shower, 365 days after I first put on the necklace, I realized it wasn’t very funny at all.

-

This year my husband gave me the most perfect presents—every one was something I’d asked for in the months before Christmas and each one was purchased on sale. He got me a Keurig so I could make single cups of decaf coffee at night before bed. He bought it on Black Friday for half off. Knowing I feel a little guilty about Keurig waste, he purchased compostable K-cups—organic and fair trade. He gave me Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead and left the 30% off Target sticker on the cover. He even bought me the exact reading glasses I love, a pair I already have but scratched and wanted to replace.

This man sees me and loves me.

But also, I think maybe I’ve tamed him. And I mean that in a bad way.

When I first met my husband he was the kind of guy who’d spend a whole paycheck on his girlfriend’s Christmas present. For our first Christmas (we weren’t even officially dating) he bought me a teddy bear the size of an actual baby bear and a silver ring. When I was sixteen he replaced that ring with a diamond engagement ring. He said it wasn’t an engagement ring—just a promise ring, a ring to promise that he wanted to marry me one day. It was totally an engagement ring.

This is the man who bought me a dog one day on a whim because I was sad and then bought me another dog two years later because I was sad again. He’s the man who took out a student loan his senior year of college to take his wife to Europe for 35 days. He’s the man who saved money for two years to buy fast passes and snack passes and wands and robes for his children at The Wizarding World of Harry Potter (after reading every book aloud, doing the voices for each and every character)

What is this man doing buying me decaf coffee and one affordable book?

What have I missed out on in these last several years of marital domestication?

What if Justin had given me what he wanted to give and not just what I was willing to receive?

How would my life be different if I wasn’t “very hard to buy for”?

It was in the shower when it hit me: I bet God thinks I’m very hard to buy for, too.

-

I am having a hard time lately with God and unanswered prayers. I have things I’ve asked for, things I think He should provide. They are very basic things like a salary for my husband and enough money between the two of us to pay our mortgage. I have specific ideas about how he might achieve that provision.

For whatever reason God’s gifts are coming rather slowly, in fits and starts and leads that don’t always pan out. I don’t want much—for my husband to keep doing what he loves and for me to be able to keep writing. I have made a very small list.

But then my friend says to me, “Is it possible God hasn’t answered your prayers because they’re too small?”

-

A quiz to determine whether or not you are very hard to buy for. Put a check mark beside each sentence you deem true.

• If you buy a jacket for $30 and then it goes on sale for $20 a week later you will feel sick—like you’ve wasted something you can never get back. Similarly, if someone pays full price for one of your gifts, a gift you know they could have purchased at a discount, you will also feel sick.

• Resources are scarce, and if you’re not super careful you’ll run out.

• If someone buys you something you don’t like, you feel enormously guilty.

• If someone buys you something you don’t like, you feel like they don’t understand you and probably don’t really love you.

• Receiving gifts feels emotionally complicated.

• I am hard to know and love.

• Buying someone something they haven’t asked for (especially something expensive) is reckless.

• I do not like to be surprised.

• Gift spending limits are essential.

• I do not like excessive attention or excessive sacrifice on my behalf.

• Never buy another a person a pet, a vacation, or a $100 purse without direct consultation and approval.

• I like to control outcomes.

• Christmas lists make everything better.

• I know what’s best for me.

-

Do I know what’s best for me? Is it possible I’m wrong?

And then… Do I want what’s best for me? Or am I settling for what seems reasonable? Practical? Affordable? Possible?

Maybe I am bad at receiving gifts, because I am bad at receiving real love.

-

My daughters London and Eve nanny for a family with seven kids. London is sixteen. Eve is fourteen. And for the first time in their young lives they have money. Because they have hardly any expenses, they have lots of money. Both girls went bananas buying Christmas presents. London bought me gold earrings. Eve bought me Nike tennis shoes.

For weeks Eve had been looking for the exact right pair. She’s not like her sister (surprises are not her thing), so she told me up front: I want to buy you shoes, but I want you to pick them out so I know you’ll love them. Then she told me my budget, “You’ve got $50.” I was shocked. What 14 year old spends $50 on her mom?

She and I shopped for shoes, but we never really landed on anything we both liked. Then, before she went to work one day she said, “Hey, I’ve upped your budget to $75. Take a look today while you’re out and see if you see anything you like.”

This was the sweetest thing ever, but I had no intention of going over my original budget.

That day I did find a pair of shoes I liked—they were $40 off but still $10 over that first budget. I texted a pic to Eve, told her they were perfect AND on sale, and that I’d cover the extra $10. But Eve, because she is who she is (assertive, confident, kind, generous, and good at advocating for herself and others), texted back that I would not cover the $10 and that she didn’t care if they were on sale. In fact, she was willing to bump up to $100 if I found a pair I liked better. She said, “What I want is for you to have a pair of shoes you love.”

And that was all the correction I needed. It was like Eve was speaking for everyone who’d ever tried to love me, God included. God especially.

I realized right there in Academy Sports: I am exhausting God with my small-minded, clearance sale requests. Maybe everything would be easier if I’d just let Him give me what I’d love.

-

I took the necklace off tonight, and I’m not going to put it back on. “Very hard to buy for” is over.

I hopped online and used my Christmas money to buy a pendant with wildflowers on it to remind me of Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:

See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?

I said to God, “Bring it on. I want whatever you have for me. Let it be excessive and impractical. Let it be something I don’t understand. Let it be something I never knew I wanted. I will not stop you from loving me.”

-JL

It was a Nike Christmas (each pair purchased on clearance) ;)

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Hey guys! I know it’s been forever since my last essay. I’ll be sending another email later this week with an update on my current projects and a look back at what I’ve been doing this year. As I look ahead to 2024, I can’t wait to see what God has in store. I think it might include new books, a new podcast (?!), and plenty more of The Goodness.

A question: What would you like to see more of from me in 2024? What do you want me to write about? What wisdom are you craving as you navigate your walk with Yahweh?

Answer in the comments or reply to this email. I’d love to hear from you.