Christmas morning was weird for us. It started with the usual discovery of Santa-eaten cookies and carefully wrapped gifts. It ended with realizing one of us had a fever and canceled plans. But in between, I made a realization that confirmed we were on the right path in this little life we have built.
The kids opened their gifts. We are in the land of Legos and Barbie, science experiments and pretend make-up. As the gifts were unveiled, each recipient was pleased. After all, I had worked carefully to pick things I knew each child would love and enjoy. But they were still things. More things on top of the existing things. In spite of enjoying the fun of giving, I have never quite been able to shake the heavy feeling of adding more things to a house already full enough with things. We have spent the last year purging big time. Boxes have been donated and bags have been tossed. But we still live in a world overcome by consuming.
I had especially felt this struggle this year, and based on conversations with friends, I’m thinking I’m not alone. I wanted the joy of giving and receiving without the nagging feeling that it was all too much.
The gifts were done -I thought- but actually, they weren’t. Because Jim, my husband, had a few surprises of his own.
Jim is a woodworker, and a darn good one. Our house has his fingerprints all over it. The adirondack chairs that he built around the firepit he constructed. The playhouse he designed and then built to match our real house. The lookout tower that reaches high enough for the kids (and often me) to spy on the walkers in the park across the street. The huge, welcoming, rustic table on our deck and the shelves in our bedrooms. I love that when I come home, I am coming into something that is very much our own. There are so many things that, thanks to Jim, are uniquely mine.
So on Christmas morning, the woodworker had some secret Santa-ing to do. He slowly and lovingly unveiled his gifts for each of us. For our son, a requested pencil box and a game. Our daughter received a jewelry box crafted from a previous year’s Christmas tree trunk. She also was given a bandsaw box, a butterfly shaped box with a little wooden drawer. Jim knew me well enough to gift me a piece of sanded wood with ideas for what it could become. I decided on napkin holders. They’re done now and I love them (more on those in another post).
We were all overjoyed by our little surprises. Not just that we didn’t know they were coming, but that they were so perfect for each of us. And made by hand, late at night in the workshop/garage while we all rested. Even if I understood it more than the kids, we were all holding acts of love in our hands.
It made me think about how easy it is to actually solve the problem of generosity in this age that feels so yucky with consumerism. Crafting things by hand just might be the key.
And that doesn’t mean you have to be a woodworker. I thought of the little cross stitched cardinal ornaments I made for neighbors last year and how special it had been to one in particular, who saw cardinals as a connection to the mother she had lost. I thought of the meals during COVID, both given and received, that spanned the bridge of quarantines and brought us into the homes of friends. And I thought of our beloved garden. Of the produce shared with neighbors and family during growing season.
This is a whole other conversation, but I wondered what it would look like if I worked sharing into my garden planning for this year. I’m asking myself what it looks like to grow crops that others will love to receive, not just that I will use myself. Not just giving out of our overflow but intentionally passing on the first fruits of our labor. I’m hoping this will be part of the homemade lifestyle we have embraced.
Christmas was a little quieter this year. A little different. The homemade presents were a part of that. And you know what? I kind of loved it.