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December, 1975 and my 9-year old spirit was as low as the Missouri thermometer. But the simplest of gifts

 warmed the heart of not only myself, but my family for decades. Following divorce, my mother had recently

moved to Texas so this was to be our first Christmas apart since my birth.  One of my favorite holiday

activites was shopping with mom to find just the perfect Christmas present for my maternal grandparents,

but of course this year that was not to be.  My dad and I had a difficult relationship, even at that early age,

so though he had legal custody I spent as many weekends, school breaks, and other days with my

grandparents as possible.  It was the thought of not having a gift for my beloved grandma that hurt most of

all.  One weekend shortly before Christmas my grandpa finally coaxed out of me the reason for my somber

mood during this season of joy.  "You know son" he said " we can go buy something for your grandma, but I

have a better idea. Lets go out to the garage."  Out into the cold we went, behind the garage where some scrap

lumber included a pine stump about  a foot long -- the leftover trimmed from this years Christmas tree.  "I think

your grandma sure could use a good candleholder, don't you son" he said "bring that little log into the garage."

Out of the tool chest came a family heirloom in its own right, my great-grandfathers antique hand-cranked

drill.  So, while grandpa gently guided my hands and applied the needed pressure, I cranked away until two

fine-looking holes were made.  "Grandpa, thats great" I exclaimed "but I wanna make it even better!"  In a flash

I was off like St. Nick, sneaking past grandma to the toybox for some red and green crayons. "Just what are you

two up to out there son?" she asked. "Oh, uhhm, nothing grandma" I answered with a mirthful glint in my eye.

Back to the garage, where another thirty minutes of careful work on each end of the pine produced satisfactoy

hues of evergreen and crimson.  The three wisemen from the Orient couldn't have felt more pride, as I marched

my gift into the house and presented it to grandma.  "Oh my!" she softly exclaimed as her tears flowed and

my face beamed like the star of Bethlehem.  Years later I came to realize the tears of joy were not only for the

treasured gift, but for the rekindled Christmas spirit in her grandson.  For the next 38 years that old pine log

covered in crayon and with two discount-store candles stuck in it, was always the centerpiece of my

grandparents holiday decorations.  Invariably any guests who paid the least notice to it were told the story

of its creation in reverent tones.  We lost grandpa in January 2004, but still the gift lived on.  In the summer

of 2008 it was time for grandma to enter a nursing home for good. One of the pesonal posessions she absoutly

insisted on taking was, you guessed it, that old stump.  Now a whole new audience of nursing staff and

residents were treated to the story of its creation.  Grandma passed away this past June, so this

is my first Christmas without either of them in my life. However as I write this on my kitchen table, the

centerpiece of my home decorations, sits an aged candleholder made for next-to-nothing yet more valuable

than all the worlds gold.  So this Christmas as you go from store to store, then home to wrap the gifts,

remember that sometimes the old cliche' is true --that with some gifts it really is the thought that counts.