The Best Gift

Have you ever racked your brain or searched endlessly to find just the right gift for someone special?  That special person may be old, one whose needs in life are so limited, that the task is made even more difficult.

Each of us has most likely experienced this at some time.  I specifically recall my frustrations as a certain Mother's Day was approaching--the one for 1967.  My mother was in her eightieth year and no longer maintained a home for herself.  Her personal needs were adequately supplied.  Her ability and interest in reading had diminished.  It seemed there was nothing I could give her that would be special enough for that honorable day.  Too, my finances were limited so the extent of my purchasing power could not afford something fabulous.  I was really disturbed about it.

Often my problems receive my best attention in the dead of night when I awaken from peaceful sleep and cannot regain the blessings of slumber. I toss and turn and with my restless body, comes an activated mind.  Such was the case one night about a week before Mother's Day.  Suddenly an idea  lightened my mind, almost illuminated the darkened room in which I lay--I would write Mother a very special message and express my deepest thanks for specific things which she had done for me throughout my lifetime.  The ideas came so fast I could hardly wait for morning to begin jotting them down.

I commenced the message by stating that I could think of no better gift to give her than to express myself in this particular way.  I titled my message; "Things I Want To Tell My Mother While She Is Still With Me."

Because I was born on a hot August day, I knew it must have been a very inconvenient time as my father was a farmer and Mom always had to cook for the threshers.  Despite my having four older brothers and sisters and Mom's busy schedule, she still had time to spend with me, thus giving me such a good start in my life for which I thanked her.

In my message I reminisced about her efforts to keep me tidy and clean even though her laundry facilities were far from modern.  The only running water Mother had was that which she ran for--either to the pump for cooking and drinking, or lugging buckets from the old rain barrels to empty into a boiler to heat for the clothes wash.  I do not know what kind of a washing machine she had when I was a baby, but my earliest recollection is that of a hand-operated one. But in spite of these inconveniences I knew she had kept me clean and tidily dressed.

Perhaps one of the greatest remembrances any of us have is relative to our mothers' cooking.  I vividly reminded Mom of some of the yummy foods she had prepared such as the brown molasses bread which usually had come from the oven just shortly before our arrival home from school.  We couldn't wait until supper time to taste it. How we enjoyed it as the home-churned butter melted into its warm texture.  I talked about the lefse and all the other special things we made for the holiday feasts. I shared with her my pride as I quoted Chester "Honey, you're a good cook just like your mother."

Mother was a seamstress.  She had never taken a single sewing lesson in her life. In fact, her education was limited in every way.  As a very young girl she had begun to sew for others. After her marriage it was not strange that she continued to sew for each of her babies and that she continued to sew for us as we grew up.  Each new garment, whether a dress, jacket, or coat, whether made from new material or from old apparel, was joyfully received and proudly worn.  I reminded Mom that I had never purchased a ready-made dress until I was l9 years old.

I reflected on the dress of dresses which she painstakingly created for me--the one when I pledged my vows to Chester.  I shared with her my daughters' wish, hoping they might wear it also on that special day in their futures.

My greatest expression of appreciation was because of her deep concern for each of us in spiritual matters.  It was she who asked my two younger sisters and me to give our lives to the Lord Jesus, one Sunday night at the close of a gospel service. How vivid were my recollections of that experience as I thanked her for introducing me to Jesus.  To have a Christian mother who is truly concerned over the needs of one's soul is a value for which appreciation is hard to define.

Lastly, I thanked Mother for her kindnesses and blessings which she always extended to Chet, our children and me.  Her gifts of homemade garments to our children continued as long as she was able to sit at the sewing machine.  But her prayers for us were more important than any material gift, and for this I expressed my deepest gratitude.  I mentioned Chester's references to her from the pulpit as a woman of prayer.

I summarized it all by thanking my mother for just herself and signed it, "One of your nine children--the one you named Avis Violet."

Taking a sheet of pink construction paper, I folded it in half and as artistically as I could, inscribed it with my chosen title, inserted the sheets with their typed message, punched some holes through which I laced a pink ribbon, and tied my love message securely together.  Then I mailed it to her.

Little did I realize the worth of that gift.  Not in dollars, for it had cost me nothing. Those who were with her said she showed that gift to all who came.  Later that fall Mother came to spend a month with us.  One day in her open suitcase I saw the little rosy-pink booklet. It had become her prized possession.

And that was my last Mother's Day gift to her as she left us the following March.  Of her personal effects, the booklet was returned to me.  As I reviewed its contents, I had to express my thanks to Him, also, Who had given me the inspiration to pen those words to her for whom I wanted that extra special gift.