So, if this is the season for giving and joy, my admission and confession is that I have come to suck at Christmas gift shopping and I didn’t do much better this year than I did last year, although I am coming to grips with just how bad I am at it and how much I wish I wasn’t.
It’s not from lack of training in gifting that I suffer from. My mother made me stop and wonder at the way I felt, way down deep, deep in my soul, when I did something, really did something for someone else. “Giving someone is going to cost you,” Janet, my Dad directed.
This Christmas, more than last, struck dumb with lack of imagination, I mostly gave over to inaction and small tokens, waiting for inspiration, even a divine one, to hit me and move me to the mall.
It never happened.
So here I sit, in the aftermath of it all, in the never-never land between Christmas and New Year’s, knowing that any confession will not be complete unless I confide to you, from the other side of this Christmas gifting: the receiving.
It seems my family doesn’t (and never really has) suffered from my Christmas-is-for-children syndrome.
I got presents from them, that it was clear, cost them and that they hoped would mak