It’s time to step back into Christmas cheer-type writing for a bit. Enough snark for a few days. But don’t worry, I’m not pivoting toward catalogs, wish lists, or a celebration of stuff.
What still matters to me (maybe more than ever) is stewardship: not wasting, reusing when possible, appreciating simple gestures, and remembering that the best gifts often don’t come with price tags or batteries.
That said, gifts were given. And received. And some of them deserve reflection. Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to receive many thoughtful tokens of appreciation. Some were meaningful in the quietest ways. Others were… unforgettable.
The most unique gift I ever received came from an eighth grader. He handed me a large, carefully wrapped box. Inside it was a slightly smaller box. Inside that, another. And another. And another. Each one meticulously wrapped, each one building anticipation. The final box contained a nearly empty bag of Doritos, with exactly one chip inside. He looked at me very seriously and said, “The idea came to me in a dream.”
I did what any seasoned educator would do. I smiled. I paused. I offered the most polite, sincere “thank you” I could muster, while internally applauding his commitment to conceptual art.
Then there was the gift I most overpraised—a cautionary tale. A fifth grader named Stacy once gave me a jar of homemade salsa. She insisted I try it immediately. Right there. No escape. Now, a brief side note for context: Stacy’s mom… did not "have it going on" in the culinary department. At least not in the salsa lane.
What I tasted was, without exaggeration, the most unique flavor experience of my life. Delicious? That would be a stretch of both imagination and honesty. It was somewhere between pasta sauce and Mexican salsa—too sweet, oddly aggressive, and a full-on assault on the taste buds. But I smiled. And I praised it. And I told Stacy how much I loved it and how much I appreciated the thought.
For the next three years, I received the same salsa and a bag of chips for Christmas, Teacher Appreciation Week, and the end-of-year gift. And every time, I thanked her. And her mom. And meant it, because love and effort were present, even if cumin and sugar were not in agreement.
My favorite gifts, though, weren’t things at all. They were donations made in my name. Time spent with my children and grandchildren. Celebrating Christmas for the first time with the Appalachian Sturgills. Announcements of new grandbabies on the way. Certificates promising future help—IOUs for cleaning and organizing workshops, garages, basements, and the places where life quietly accumulates.
Those gifts don’t clutter shelves. They deepen relationships.
So now I’m curious about your stories.
What were your favorite gifts? The most unique? Did you ever praise a gift just a wee bit too enthusiastically—and then live with the consequences? I can’t wait to read your thoughts.
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