You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
~Kahlil Gibran
When I was eight years old, my father moved our family from New Jersey to Massachusetts to start a business in the town where he’d grown up. At first, my brothers and I were unhappy about the move because it meant leaving our friends and classmates. The relocation was especially hard on my mother, as it placed her hours away from her mother and sisters for the first time in her life.
Once landed in our new home, my brothers and I occupied ourselves with making friends, tackling schoolwork, and playing with cousins we’d never met before. It was harder for Mom, though, to meet new people. On top of that, we were short on funds while my dad worked to launch his business.
As fall turned into winter and money remained tight, my parents were arguing more than ever and Dad was scrambling to work odd jobs while he got his business off the ground. Gifts were not really in the budget that year, and Mom’s spirits grew as gray as the skies.
On top of all this stress and sadness, we discovered that most of our Christmas tree ornaments had broken during the move from New Jersey.
My mother, ever resourceful, took an unexpected action. On a mild day in early December, my brother and I came home from school to find Mom in the back yard, assembling an impromptu crafts station on the picnic table. “We lost our Christmas ornaments,” she proclaimed, “so we’re going to make our own.” Mom had gathered spray paint, sequins, and glitter to adorn the unlikeliest of decorations: tin can lids. She’d spent the past week removing and saving the lids after meals, and that day she eagerly waited for us kids to arrive before cutting them with tin snips into stars, bells, angels, and trees.
My brothers and I got to choose our shapes and decorate them as we laughed, sang carols, told tales about our new teachers and classmates, and basked in Mom’s renewed cheer. That December afternoon at the picnic table was more memorable than most Christmas mornings full of shiny paper and expensive gifts.
To this day, my brothers and I speak fondly of our “tin can Christmas” as we point out the few surviving ornaments on our parents’ tree. Primitive, yet crafted with love and hope, they are more precious than most of the glittery, store-bought new ones.
I recall that ornament-making party in the back yard as a glowing example of my mother’s creativity, resilience, and ability to bring love and light to our days no matter how dark her own were. Struggling with three kids, financial hardship, persistent migraines, part-time jobs, and a business to co-manage, Mom didn’t have much time or space to explore her passions during my childhood. But she was usually up for fun, and sometimes went out of her way to create it.
The magic of that particular Christmas came directly through my loving mother, who could turn tin cans into angels, and darkness into light.
~Kim Childs
