As I was choosing the gifts for my kids, I ended up thinking a lot about my past Christmas memories. I remembered when my parents would do anything in the world to get me that one big toy I wanted. The top story will always be when my incredibly religious mother broke her "no shopping on Sunday" rule to try to get me a Cabbage Patch Kid. Fights broke out... things went insane... and my mom left toy-less. To this day, while the no shopping rule has long since been dropped, Mom will say she didn't get a Cabbage Patch Kid that day because she was somewhere that she knew she shouldn't be.
Next I started thinking about the gifts that really mean something. And there was one that came to mind.
I was around the same age as my daughter is now (pre-teen) and, coming up to Christmas, my mom kept telling me that Mamaw was so excited about a Christmas gift she had for me and, no matter what, to make sure I thanked her. She told me that it may not matter much now, but one day I would really value it. On Christmas day, I opened the package to find a full, beautiful quilt that my grandmother had hand-quilted just for me. It had butterflies on it and she even picked all of my favorite colors. And, even as a pre-teen, I didn't have to act like it mattered. It mattered more than I could say. She even embroidered my name and the date in the corner of it.
Many years later, I was sitting on my bed painting and a little spot got on the quilt. I tried and tried to wash it out, but couldn't. I went to Mom sobbing that I had ruined Mamaw's quilt. The fact that Mom couldn't even see it until I pointed it out several times didn't stop the guilt.
Over the years, the spot faded dramatically and even I had to really look to find it. But now my daughter sleeps under that quilt. Now THAT, my friends, is a gift!