As Christmas draws near, recipes are gathered, presents are wrapped, and stories are told—and retold, and told again. Lists are crossed off. Family gathers. Children shake the packages beneath the tree, shifting them just slightly, wondering. The tree glows all day long.
Today the children came over while Chelsea ran out for some last-minute Christmas shopping. We spent the time reading stories and preparing for tomorrow. At one point, Gabriel looked at me very seriously and said we didn’t really need to buy Christmas presents. We could make things instead. We could draw, and write, and create—and that, he said, was the very best kind of gift.
I asked him if he had finished his Christmas gift-giving. He said he had an idea. He was going to draw pictures and write letters to everyone in our family.
He raced into my room and grabbed the box I keep just for him—the one filled with scissors, crayons, paint, brushes, pins, and paper. He carried it all to the kitchen floor and spread everything out carefully. Then he asked if I had Christmas paper. Of course I did. I handed him a roll, and his face lit up. He told me his letters weren’t very big and asked if he could cut the paper into smaller pieces. I told him he could do whatever he wanted.
And there he stayed, right on the floor, working entirely on his own for nearly three hours. He drew pictures. He wrote letters in his beautiful cursive handwriting. He wrapped each one carefully, tied them with bows, and wrote our names on the outside. I watched, amazed—by his focus, his thoughtfulness, his pride as he placed each gift under the tree.
He even made one for our friend who has been living with us.
I cannot wait to open my Christmas present from Gabriel.
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