The Greatest Gift

Gift giving comes pretty easily to me. I like to think about what people like, their style, their hearts. I find satisfaction in the right gift. It's not the price or anything, it's the importance. The smile it will bring. It's fun.
But I realized that the greatest gift that I give is when I write for someone. It's a huge gift because it puts who I am on the line. It makes me vulnerable. If it comes off as unimportant, it is much more of a disappointment than a purchased gift not being quite right. For some of you, that kind of gift comes from giving art or a piece of furniture. Maybe you make quilts or afghans. Those gifts of hand and heart are special. They are treasures because they are a piece of you. Alas, sometimes these great gifts fall on hard times. People tend to not know the import of the gift. The receiver often seems to forget that they got the gift at all. It's lost in the busyness of the "real" gifts.
But through time, through generations, through a lifetime, it turns out that the gifts that are the greatest treasures are those that come from the mind and creation of the giver.
"My mother made me this blanket when I was 6," is heard, but rarely do you hear, " I got this electronic device from my parents when I was 6." The electronic device is out of date and gone. Useless. But the blanket made by your mother grows only more special. Even through the generations.
But giving of your talents is risky. You can be hurt. Honestly, I don't think there has ever been a person who knows what it costs me to write something just for them. To make something is a huge commitment because I don't have a lot of natural artistic ability.
Those of you who cook for your families every day know about this feeling. The wanting to please. The loving. The dedication. Sometimes it is met with praise. Sometimes it is ridiculed. Sometimes it is taken forgranted.
Whether you construct furniture, whittle walking sticks, craft music or poetry, paint portraits or landscapes, or sew perfectly, it is always difficult to give a gift that comes from yourself. But I challenge you to keep trying. Nobody will probably applaud the gift. They probably won't even recognize what it cost of yourself. But someday, they will be showing their children. Or their grandchildren. A gift of yourself is a part of your legacy to the world. Even if nobody really gets it. It is a piece of you that continues on after you are gone.
As my writing. It's nothing that keeps me gainfully employed or makes people ooh and aah if I do a "piece" just for them. Frankly, generally when I write, I find it tossed aside. I have actually been known to pick it up and take it back or toss it when I've found it months later. I know, tacky. But maybe someday, just maybe, if I don't rescue it and take it home or throw it away, maybe someone will pull it out and read it at a time when I'm not around anymore and maybe they will remember a bit of who I was. Maybe it will make them smile. Or cry. Or feel hopeful. Maybe it will just make them feel a little bit understood. I hope so.
So, keep giving of yourself. Even if it's hard. Everyone has some talent to offer. If it's cooking......well, it won't be around for posterity. Well, unless we eat too much of it and then it will show up on our posteriors. But most things have the possibility of being around in years. To be talked about. Stroked. Loved. Remembered.
I know that those are my favorite things.
blessings,
rhonda