Gifts Wrapped in Memories
There’s a certain kind of magic that settles in on Christmas Eve, the glow of twinkle lights, the hum of familiar voices, the smell of good food lingering in the air. This year, as I walked into my brother Greg’s and sister-in-law Pat’s home, I could feel it right away. Laughter bubbled up easily, coats were piled by the door, and there was that unmistakable feeling of togetherness that only family gatherings seem to bring.
Every year, someone creates a special way for us to exchange gifts. It’s never just about what’s inside the package, it’s about connection, creativity, and heart. This year’s my niece Kelsey’s theme was especially meaningful: bring a gift inspired by a special Christmas memory. It could be something recent or something tucked far back in time. I knew in an instant what mine would be.
When I was little, maybe four or five, my mom used to give my brother Greg, my sister Cindy, and me a small amount of money to buy a Christmas gift for our dad (Jeff was too little at the time). We lived on a farm out in the country, and just across the way from our family home stood a red brick gas station built by my grandfather and his brothers. It had gas pumps out front, a small convenience store on one side, and a tire shop on the other end. That gas station and store felt like a world of possibility.
Greg, being the oldest, carefully chose something he thought Dad would love. Cindy and I? We followed his lead, wholeheartedly. We both picked out the exact same thing he did: a mini shaving kit complete with a little can of shaving cream, a razor with a holder, and aftershave.
I remember feeling so proud. So certain, he is going to love this.
Christmas morning came, and one by one, Dad opened his gifts. Three identical shaving kits. And each time, every single time, he reacted as though it was the greatest gift he had ever received. His smile was genuine. His gratitude overflowing. He made each of us feel so special.
The funniest part? We did the same exact thing the next year. That memory has lived quietly in my heart all these years, not because of the gift itself, but because of how my dad received it. With joy. With kindness. With love.
So when it came time to choose my gift this year, I went searching online and found a shaving kit. Not a travel-sized one, but a full-sized version, and I loved what it represented. A small moment. A big feeling. A reminder of how it feels to be seen and appreciated.
When I shared the story, Greg admitted he didn’t remember it at all, which made me smile. Because when it was his turn, I didn’t remember his memory either.
He talked about our mom’s beautiful snow globe that sat on the dining room hutch. He would turn it over and over, watching the snow fall, and felt sad when it eventually stopped. Such a tender, childlike memory to a child and now a man’s love of snow. Greg brought a stunning snow globe, one powered by batteries so the snow keeps falling again and again. And yes… I’m happy to report I managed to steal it during the gift exchange. Sorry, Garrett. I love that I get to hold his memory now too.
The room filled with stories, some sweet, some funny, but all heartfelt. My son shared a memory of lighting candles during the Christmas Eve church service and gifted a beautiful candle in its honor. My daughter wasn’t able to be there this year, but when asking her what her gift would have been she said an advent calendar in memory of the one I used to make for them each year. She mentioned she looked forward to the whole month of surprises, especially the social things that were planned.
As we listened, laughed, and maybe wiped away a tear or two, I realized how powerful this simple idea was. These gifts weren’t about things, they were about meaning. About honoring where we’ve been and who we’ve loved. And that’s the real magic of the holidays.
So here’s my gentle invitation to you this season and the next, slow down and share the stories. Ask about the memories. Wrap your gifts and your time together, in meaning. Because long after the wrapping paper is gone, what remains are the moments that connect us. Because, that night reminded me that the most beautiful presents are truly gifts wrapped in memories.
xo, Sheryl
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