A Gift That Keeps on Giving -- Creativity in the Face of Financial Struggle

Every December, the pressure creeps in — the ads, the expectations, the endless lists of things we feel like we should buy. Bigger. Better. More. But if you’re anything like me, when you pause long enough to think about it, you start to realize… the gifts that truly last rarely come wrapped in shiny paper. Do you remember what you got for Christmas last year? How about five years ago… or twenty? A few years back, I read a post on a county-wide social media page from a mom who was desperately looking for “cheap gifts” so her kids would have enough to open on Christmas morning. The classic struggle of quantity over quality. And if I’m honest, I’ve fallen into that same trap more times than I’d like to admit. Her post transported me back to a Christmas forty-seven years ago, when my parents didn’t have much money to spare. As a child, I didn’t understand layoffs or budgets, but I knew my dad had been out of work at General Motors for a long stretch. That year, my parents gave me a gift that seemed a bit disappointing at the time… but has become one of the most treasured gifts of my life. I’m 56 now, and it is the only Christmas gift from childhood that I still have. My parents had created homemade coupon books for me and each of my siblings. Every hand-written coupon could be redeemed for something special: • “Admission and skate rental for you and one guest” • “One pair of shoes on approval” • Barbie outfits • An album • A latch-hook kit • $2 at the Jolly Jester (our local arcade) • A new pair of jeans …and so much more. Each time one was redeemed, my parents punched a tiny hole in the corner — a simple act that turned every coupon into a memory in the making. A few weeks ago, I sat down and flipped through the pages again. It’s funny how memories rise up the moment you give them room. I remembered taking my best friend to the skating rink. I remembered the hours spent working on that latch-hook kit. I remembered selecting jeans at Sears & Roebuck and proudly choosing the white running shoes with red trim that I thought were just perfect.

There are still four coupons left that have never been redeemed. What strikes me now is how intentional my parents were. They didn’t look for “cheap” filler gifts to make Christmas morning look abundant. They didn’t buy things they couldn’t afford or things I didn’t want or need. Instead, they crafted a gift that stretched far beyond a single morning — something thoughtful, creative, and deeply meaningful. They may have struggled financially that year, but I never felt it. What I did feel was love — steady, present, resourceful love. And as a mom myself, I’ve come to understand just how precious that kind of love is. Our children won’t remember the price tag, but they will remember how we made them feel. They’ll remember the moments we showed up, the time we invested, and the memories we created together. Gifts fade. Toys break. But intentional love — sacrificial, creative, heart-led love — is remembered long after the tree is taken down. I’ve never been more grateful for a Christmas gift. And Momma… if you’re reading this… I’d still like to redeem that “night of bowling with the family” sometime soon. Thank you for the lesson that took me years to fully understand: Christmas isn’t about more — it’s about meaning.