Almost Christmas

I am notoriously difficult to buy gifts for. People are never sure what I need, what I will like, or what will be exactly the right present. My mother usually buys me a bunch of stuff that she thinks I need. (I'm starting to realize this gift-giving trend of hers is feeding my fashion emergency.) This year when my mother called to complain about my lack of telling her what I wanted, I told her that it would be so easy. I'm one of those people who walks into the stores at Christmas time and falls apart at how many cute little things there are that you could put around the house. It seems like I never have enough to decorate to my heart's content. So I told her to just go to the store, pick out some really fun decorations, and then send them along.

A few days later, I received a package in the mail. Inside was a reused box that was light and packed full. I opened it up anxiously. Inside I found two throw pillows, both red with an angel covering the front, edged with frilly old-fashioned lace.


My mother included a short note explaining that the pillows had been made by a woman in our church while I was growing up, Mrs. Martin. Since I had been close to Mrs. Martin as a child, my mother thought I would like to have the pillows. She even offered to take the lace off if I thought it was too much for my taste.

As I looked closely at the stitching on angels, I remembered that Mrs. Martin had taught me to do the same on a yellow potholder I made when I was seven. I struggled to keep each stitch the same length, wishing I could make my stitches as uniform as hers were. The stitching she had done on the pillows was just as precise as I remember it being so long ago. If I took a quick look at the pillows without knowing where they had come from, I probably would have missed the huge amount of work put into the task. At one time, all that Mrs. Martin held in her hands was some raw fabric printed with angels and spools of thread. What she produced out of those materials was truly beautiful. And the process by which it became the pillows I held in front of me was a labor of selfless love.


I was very grateful to receive the pillows. I wanted to keep the lace exactly as Mrs. Martin had sewn it there. I felt like when she made them so many years ago, maybe she thought of me a few times. Maybe. Maybe she had a sense that I would get them some day.

I'm trying to remember that each act I commit has long lasting effects that even I cannot imagine. Long after I am gone, maybe someone will be blessed by something I did. Of course, it's possible that I could have the opposite effect on someone by being selfish. That's a sombering idea that makes me want to make the most of every moment of every day.

Lately I've been 'cranky,' as my family members would put it. Sure, I could give fair explanations for why. A surgery, some lingering pain, and a reminder that the holidays always makes depression worse for me. Still, when I am able to see past my own needs, I want to give back selflessly. Especially to my family. To my daughters and my husband.

Long after I am gone, I will be lucky if my great-grandchildren even know what my name was. They definitely won't know anything that afflicted me like surgeries or depression or just too hectic of a life. But maybe, maybe if there are some loving, generous, giving things I can do in my lifetime, those same great-grandchildren might benefit without even knowing it was me who made it possible. Or even who I was.

Merry Christmas, all. Make every moment matter. Peace.