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December 23, 2002 Dear Gabby,Christmas, for Americans, seems to be all about gifts.
Everyone complains about how commercial it is, but then we get involved
in rushing to the malls, to charge gifts we can’t afford, to give to people we
don’t even like that much. I’m
just as bad as the rest. Already
this year, I’ve spent too much, and Christmas isn’t here yet.
Do you have ideas on how to fix this problem and help us put our focus
back where it belongs? I know the
focus is supposed to be on Jesus and the celebration of His birth, but I’m
specifically asking about the gift-giving aspect of the holiday. I don’t want to totally stop giving gifts; I just want
them to be in perspective. What do
you think, Gabby? How can I
participate in gift giving without getting caught up in the crazy commercialism
of Christmas? Ms. Commercialism in Connecticut Dear Ms. Connecticut,I also got caught up in the Christmas whirlwind once my
darling brown-eyed daughter Kristy came to live with me.
I wanted to buy her everything! She
was five years old that first Christmas, and since I didn’t know she was
coming until the 23rd, I rushed out and found her an inexpensive rag
doll. Kristy received just one gift
that Christmas, but, goodness gracious, was that first celebration charming and
warm! Then, for some reason, I got involved in trying to be the
best mother in the world. I wanted
all the rest of the women I knew from church, the grocery store, and the library
to think I was doing a good job. Imagine,
worrying about peer pressure at 73 years old! The Christmas Kristy was six, at the end of our first year
together, I joined the frantic rush from store to store, trying to find a
Cabbage Patch doll to complete the gigantic pile of gifts I’d bought for
Kristy. It was the toy that
year. I knew that all good
mothers would buy it for their daughters.
I believe I shopped at 14 stores before I found one! She was named Susan Jane Bethany and was dressed in a little
green dress. I knew Kristy would
love that doll and be assured that I was a good mother when she unwrapped it. I was so excited about her opening that present.
What a darling child. Kristy
set her well-loved rag doll down beside her, opened the package, thanked me
politely for the homely doll, setting it aside to lift her rag doll back into
her lap. I don’t believe I ever
saw her play with Susan Jane Bethany—although the doll did sit in a place of
honor on top of her dresser. I had no idea what I’d done wrong. The next Christmas, I tried again. I think it was Care Bears that year. The pink bear took her place next to Susan Jane Bethany on
the dresser. I felt like a failure.
Little brown-eyed Kristy didn’t love any gift more than the cheap rag
doll she’d received from me the first Christmas she was my daughter.
Didn’t she understand how much I’d paid for the bear and how many
other children were getting that coveted gift?
And how many weren’t getting it because all the stores were sold out? It turns out that I needed little Kristy to teach me (the
ancient old grown-up) the art of gift-giving the following Christmas when she
was eight. Actually, the story starts several years before Kristy came
to live with me, when I purchased a small, hand-made vase at a yard-sale that
Stanley’s granddaughter Sarah and I had stopped at. There wasn’t anything special about this vase except that
it charmed me. It looked like a
child had made it at school. I
liked how the child had painted it with splashes of blues and greens.
Since it matched my furniture at home, I bought it.
It cost me a quarter, if I remember correctly, and I set it on a shelf
near the window when I got it home. When
I’d see it there, in the months and years following, I’d smile, charmed once
again by its homely cuteness. Then, Kristy came. My
life turned into a whirlwind of mothering. And although I was still charmed by the vase, Kristy was more
important. So the morning
Kristy’s ponytail swung around behind her, knocking the vase to the floor,
breaking it in two pieces, I didn’t say anything.
We were in a hurry to get her off to school so I scooped up the two
pieces of the vase and set it back on the shelf—thinking I’d throw it in the
trash later. I felt a moment’s
disappointment that the charming little vase was broken, but I knew it wasn’t
very important in the big picture of life. Christmas came again, and this time, I believe all of us
parents were searching for Smurfs. I
was determined to find a gift that Kristy would like more than the cheap little
rag doll—which was very well-loved by then. I drove from store to store, getting more and more agitated
when I couldn’t find the gift of the season.
I couldn’t hear the carols being played everywhere.
I lost my focus on Jesus’ birth. I
lost my focus on my darling little brown-eyed daughter.
I was focused on an ugly blue Smurf and was determined to buy one if it
killed me. (And at 75 years of age,
it wouldn’t have been that shocking.) Meanwhile, while I got grumpier and grumpier, Kristy seemed
to get happier. She had a secret
little smile on her face and when I asked her about it, she told me that I’d
find out on Christmas. She’d gone
out shopping with Stanley’s granddaughter Sarah, so I was sure Sarah had
helped her buy me some small things to open. So when the time finally arrived, Kristy began to open her
packages, starting with the most important gift of the year.
(I’d put it on the top of the pile, anxious to see what she’d think.)
Once the gift was opened, Kristy and her well-loved rag doll perused the
strange blue Smurf curiously. I
knew immediately that the Susan Jane Bethany and the Care Bear were going to
have to make room on the top of the dresser for an additional gift failure.
After a moment, Kristy looked up at me. “What’s the matter, honey? Go ahead and open the rest
of your gifts.” “Mommy, can I watch you open yours first?” she asked
me, clambering over her pile of presents to hand me mine. “Okay, if you really want me to,” I said, opening a
nice bottle of my favorite perfume, a lovely picture frame and a few other
items. Then, she handed me a
clumsily-wrapped package with the words, “To the Best Mommy in the Whole Wide
World from Kristy” written on it. I decided to save the wrapping for her scrapbook. “What is it?” I asked her curiously. “Open it!” she demanded, barely containing her
excitement. And there, inside the
box, was the broken green and blue vase, painstakingly glued back together.
Immediately my old eyes filled with tears.
I opened my arms and hugged that darling brown-eyed little girl. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received,” I told
her, wiping my eyes. Kristy smiled,
not at all surprised by what I’d said. She
knew I’d love that gift. Why?
Because that darling little girl had paid attention to me.
She knew how charmed I was by the cheap little vase.
She also knew that, although I didn’t say anything when it broke, I was
disappointed by its loss. So she
gathered up the broken pieces, got out her bottle of white school glue, and
glued it back together. She seemed to innately understand what makes a gift
special. It’s not how expensive
it is. She paid nothing for that
amazing gift. It’s not whether
it’s popular that year. That vase
would never be popular. It has very
little to do with the gift-giver and everything to do with the one receiving the
gift. It was my best gift ever,
because she saw something she could do for me, and, with her own hands and her
own time, she did it. Instead of
spending a lot of money, she spent of herself.
And that, Ms. Connecticut, is what makes a gift special. Of all the givers of gifts, Jesus is the master.
He spent Himself when He died for us.
Certainly, at this time of the year when we’re acknowledging His birth,
we can follow His example and instead of frantically driving all over town
searching for the latest, the best, the most expensive gifts, we should take a
good look at the recipient of the gift, and figure out the best way to give of
ourselves. Kristy knew this
innately. Most of us have to learn.
Now’s a good time to start! See
if that doesn’t remove the feeling of frantic commercialism and renew the
warmth and charm that we all want the Christmas season to be. Sincerely Sincere, ninetyandnine.com © 2002, ninetyandnine.com --------- Gabrigail VanBurden has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com and be prepared for some straight answers!
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