"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." James 1:17
Syl was my mother’s friend, mentor and unofficial “surrogate” mother. She was a feisty lady, about five-feet tall who chain-smoked and drank coffee. She had the shampoo-and-set hair style of most grandmotherly types, dyed jet black. Her demeanor and humor, however, was not that of a typical grandmother. Syl was married to a man named Clyde (who I barely knew because he died when I was still young). I always thought Clyde was a cool, yet clumsy name. Syl and Clyde lived in a little double wide trailer and I remember Clyde letting me play on his Apple-II computer when we would visit their house for dinner.
Clyde was an avid HAM radio operator, corresponding with people across the globe before the internet and email were commonplace. Consequently, he had pen-pals all over the world. He would gift me bundles of empty envelopes, rubber-banded together, with postage stamps from all over the world: Egypt, Greece, Mexico, Fiji, Australia. I never knew what to do with the envelopes. I thought they were interesting for a moment and would examine their unique images and script, but then I would toss them into a plastic tub and top it with an air-tight lid. I don’t know what became of that tub. I wish I could unearth it now and marvel at those stamps. My perspective as an adult would undoubtedly be more appreciative than it was when I was nine-years old.
Twenty-six years ago I received a gift that I still have to this day. It was given to me by Syl. The gift was a tea-pot with a matching platter. The platter is round and about twelve-inches in diameter. Both the pot and the platter have matching patterns, edged in gold. The pieces are cream-colored enamel over porcelain with a brick-colored border. Each depicts a pair of peafowl; a peacock and a peahen. They sit among orange, pink and yellow flowers and blue “berries”. The male peacock’s plumage is spilling out of the flora and encircling a quarter of the image. The teapot is Asian in design with a wicker handle. Satsuma, Japan is inscribed in the bottom with a Japanese kanji in red ink.
I have never done an internet search to determine their value… until now. I can see by my results that the value they hold, for me, is purely sentimental. For around $40, I could replace the set. But the value of this gift is more the spirit in which it was given. You see, this was a wedding gift. When I was a newly wed, twenty-two years old, each gift we would unwrap would be a factory sealed box: dishes, a blender, cutlery. However, this gift, the teapot and platter, were housed in a reused cardboard box. The contents nestled in newsprint. Upon my mother’s inspection of the gift, she immediately indicated: “That is from when Syl and Clyde were overseas.” I knew it’s value was greater than that of bath-towels or a food processor. It was placed in my kitchen, atop the cupboards in a place of honor.
When he was young, Clyde was a Merchant Marine and he and Syl often moved around overseas. The gift I received, in 1995, from Syl was from her travels while abroad with Clyde. What a thoughtful, cherished gift it was. I wondered if it was a sacrifice to the giver or was she pleased to pass it along for another’s enjoyment?
We are entering the season of giving. Often it is so hard to find the right gift for someone. If you’re like me, you resign yourself to buying a gift-card for that hard to buy-for person. We buy gifts out of obligation or expectation, rather than truly seeking out a gift with meaning. It is impossible to make every gift poignant and special, but, I hope, the desire will be to give gifts that are meaningful to the receiver. In a season that is ripe with history and legacy, it makes sense to give some thought to the gifts that we give, and possibly give even more thought to those we receive. A pair of socks may be more than a pair of socks. They may be a message of “I see you”, “I understand you”, “I appreciate you”. Gifts can touch the heart and ignite the spirit.
Twenty-six years later, the bath-towels have been replaced, the food processor broke, the dishes are discarded and most of the other gifts forgotten about. But the teapot and platter, with its peacock design, still hold a place of honor. They have been bundled and packed from house to house. Currently, they are a few feet away from me on a bookshelf. A visitor to my home would not notice them as anything more than bric-a-brac. But when I take the time to look at them, to tell their story, to appreciate what they are, what they meant to Clyde and Syl, what they mean to me, their value is radiant. They are a special reminder that our journey is carried on in the gifting of gifts.
Syl passed away ten or more years ago. I will always remember her husky-smoker’s voice and her easy smile and laugh. I will always remember that she was important to my mother, therefore she is important to me. I may not think of Clyde and Syl often, but when I look that the teapot and platter, I will remember their kindness, the HAM radio, the stamps, and the generosity of a gift that may have seemed out-of-the-norm in 1995, but is something I will always cherish in the unselfishness in which it was given.
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