When I was young, each autumn I waited anxiously for the Sears Christmas catalog to arrive in the mailbox. Three to six hundred glossy pages, the famous Wish Book held almost everything a child could dream of.
My friends and I would sprawl on the floor, pencils in hand, circling and starring items that seemed like the perfect gifts. The hard part was narrowing it all down to the few things we would add to our lists for Santa.
And yet, for all the hours I spent paging through that book, I can hardly remember most of the presents I unwrapped. What I do remember are flashes of joy: my siblings all opening presents at the same time, my parents’ faces as they watched us, and the quiet, unhurried moments we shared during those holidays.
One gift that still stands out was a cassette tape recorder. This little device was essential in the days before streaming services. My friends and I would sit by the radio, ears tuned and fingers hovering over the record button, ready to capture the first few bars of a favorite song. Each night we’d add a few more tracks to our growing collection. Those homemade mixtapes became soundtracks to our lives, filled with our favorite songs—and the crackle of static that somehow made them even better.
Now that I’m older, my idea of gifts has changed. I no longer flip through glossy catalogs or think first about what I want to get. Instead, I think about what I want to give, not just things wrapped in paper and bows, but gifts that can’t be bought: my time, my attention, my love. I am learning the importance of truly seeing others. I yearn to listen to my loved ones deeply, not just to respond, but to understand. I want to pay attention to what is on their hearts and meet them there.
There are so many ways to give: offering a smile, opening a door for someone, sending a card, being part of a support group or prayer group, or joining in with a community effort to serve those in need. Giving can be as simple as showing up and being present for someone else or as intentional as committing time and energy to walk with a friend through a difficult season. However small it may seem, every act of generosity becomes a seed that can grow into something larger in God’s hands.
In these later years, I am grateful for the chance to slow down and nurture relationships in a way I didn’t always manage when life was busy with work, school, and schedules. And in the economy of Jesus, I’ve discovered that these gifts don’t just bless the receiver; they return, multiplied (Luke 6:38).
When I give my time, my attention, and my love, I find that I am the one who ends up receiving more than I could have imagined. In the Kingdom of God, the act of giving becomes its own gift.
