Traditions, Words and Gifts

I received a text message Saturday evening: “What do you want for Christmas?” My reply: “I want the wrong to fail, the right to prevail and for there to be peace on earth.” The response: “I don’t think I can get you that or make that happen.” The message continued, expressing hope for various LEGO® themed building sets (in case I have Santa connections, I guess). As I thought about the question and my answer, my eyes were drawn to the twinkling lights of our little Christmas tree reflected in the wrapping paper of the presents thereabout. I thought about all of the money spent on gifts over the 33 years of my ongoing mother-related life’s experiences. I remembered some of the biggest, most expensive gifts, wondering how valuable they really were. I see now that the most expensive gifts aren’t the best I gave. The best gifts are memories: Making special cookies and taking them to loved ones on Thanksgiving Day; being the first Christmas carolers wishing them Merry Christmas. The best includes our making the annual batches of fudge together and wrapping a sampling of it on little plates so everyone can share with friends and special teachers. The green and red folders that sit on a shelf all year long, waiting to be used during the evenings together as we approach Christmas; that’s a gift. (Those folders contain sheets of paper filled with words to every Christmas carol I knew in 1995 for family singing together time.) We’ve dressed in costumes to read special words written more than two thousand years ago on Christmas Eve. We hold hands every evening to pray before bedtime and before we leave the house every morning for work and school. These are traditions. During special times, and all the time, love and peace-filled traditions are a priceless gift. Just as valuable as these, are my words. From time to time, I write a letter to my children; sometimes to each one individually, and sometimes to the group (making a copy for each child). There will come a time when none of my progeny remember me. When my yet-to-be-born great-grandchildren are as old as I am now, I’ll be gone; imagined only through bent and faded photographs and by what tales might be told of me. My written words are a gift to my children and grandchildren. Yours are, too, to your posterity. I suspect my children can’t remember last year’s Christmas gifts. I’d be surprised, however, if they will ever forget the best gifts I’ve given them over the years, when they stop to think about it, one of these days. Gift peace-filled traditions and loving words of wisdom.

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