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Christmas Gift

22 Authors Share Their Most Memorable Christmas Gift

by C.J. Darlington

Young or old, rich or poor, we all have a favorite Christmas gift that has stayed with us over the years. Maybe it was a brand new sled or a handmade dollhouse. Many of your favorite Christian authors took the time to reminisce with us some of theirs.

Here they are in no particular order:

Erin Healy (Burn w/ Ted Dekker, Never Let You Go):
When I was a child, my mother's side of the family gathered annually in Southern California, where we all lived, to celebrate at Great Nana's home. But Great Nana passed, then Nana followed a few years later, and the kids became adults and scattered. There were marriages and births and divorces and remarriages, and though our family grew in number, we also grew apart. I'm sorry to say that I wasn't particularly concerned about it. I didn't feel much loss.
Never Let You Go by Erin Healy
A few years ago my mother--the new "matriarch" of the family--insisted this should not be and started a new tradition. In lieu of a gift exchange (which sometimes involved buying presents for a family member one had never met in person), she instituted a personal ornament exchange. The giver purchases or makes an ornament that represents himself in some way--say, with a hobby or event or memory or some such--then writes a letter explaining the meaning to the recipient. Eventually, in the distant future, every family member should possess an ornament from everyone else in the family.

After a couple years of foot-dragging ("An ornament exchange? A personal story? Who the heck cares?") the new tradition clicked. Those of us who could gathered in Texas for a party, read our letters aloud, laughed and cried aloud, reminisced and commiserated and encouraged each other ... and felt the family ties draw tighter. The effect was astonishing. Our family is changing, communicating more, and not only at Christmas. We decided these letters should become a part of the family record, and I was given the honor of collecting and compiling them.

That's my best gift: a discovery of the treasures this family holds, a new appreciation for them as individuals and a whole, a new love for each of them ... even the ones I haven't met in person yet!

Jerry B. Jenkins (the Left Behind series & Riven):
I grew up in a lower middle-income family, so one car, no vacations except to stay with relatives, etc. When I was about 11, my mother found the Golden Book Encyclopedias at the grocery store – a dollar each with your purchase and a new one every week: hardback, full color, the works. For Christmas I got the first 9 volumes or so, and then every week after that I got another until I had the complete set. I read every word of those things until they fell apart. It just seemed the perfect gift.

Roxanne Henke (On A Someday, Learning to Fly):
The first gift that comes to mind is the Barbie doll wardrobe my mom sewed for me when I was in forth grade. A couple prom dresses. A cheerleading outfit. All sorts of fun clothes laid out in what seemed like a HUGE flat box. Even so, I'm not sure I'd call Barbie clothes 'meaningful.'

Since my birthday is four days after Christmas, can I tell you what my most meaningful birthday present was??

My dad died when I was seventeen. Fast forward four years and I was turning twenty-one. My mom gave me her wedding band. The one my dad had given her on their wedding day. I've worn it almost every day for thirty-five years...a symbol of the love my dad had for my mom, and a little bit later. . .me.

Sibella Giorello (The Rivers Run Dry, The Clouds Roll Away):
I grew up in a secular Jewish household, so although I heard Christmas carols, the lyrics didn't always make perfect sense. But one Christmas I took a walk though falling snow. The words to "O Night Divine" were running through my head. I looked up at this beautiful white snow, falling soundlessly, and suddenly I heard the line, And the soul felt its worth . . . . Finally, I understood what that meant. And it felt like a gift from heaven.

Francine Rivers (Redeeming Love, Her Mother's Hope):
My most meaningful (and lasting!) Christmas gift is my husband Rick. First of all, Rick survived Vietnam and came home on December 20, 1968. We had been friends for years (since 5th grade) and corresponded during his tour of duty. He came by the day after he came home. One year to the day later, we married – December 21, 1969. This year we celebrate 40 wonderful, adventurous years of marriage and, God willing, we hope to have many more.

Margaret Brownley (A Lady Like Sarah):
At age 8, I received the most meaningful gift. It was a big beautiful doll with blond hair and eyes that opened and closed. In an effort to get on Santa’s “good” list, I cleaned my room and did my chores. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, I even did everyone else’s chores. When I opened the box Christmas morning and saw two big blue eyes staring back at me, I was elated. I felt as if I could make every dream come true if I wanted it bad enough and was willing to work for it.

At 11, I received the most meaningful gift. It was an angora sweater. A year earlier, I had received toys for Christmas, but that year I had “graduated” to clothes. Wearing that sweater made me feel so grown-up. More than that, the gift told me that others saw me as grown-up, too.
At 17, I received the most meaningful gift. It was a heart-shaped necklace from my boyfriend. I believed at that moment that love would last forever. The chain snapped less than a week later, and we broke up soon after, but I learned that some things are meant to last for only a short time and that we must enjoy them while we can.

In my twenties, I received the most meaningful gift. Our oldest son was born just before Christmas. I was no longer just a wife, daughter, friend, I was a mother. It was a gift that both elated and humbled me. This baby—this beautiful gift from God—was solely dependent on me and I wanted so much to be the perfect mother. But as I walked the floor that Christmas day trying to comfort a colicky baby, I realized the futility of that goal. I soon learned that no child ever said that his or her mother was perfect, only that she was the best.

In my thirties, I received the most meaningful gift. The Christmas I most remember during that time was a bleak one. My husband’s company was on strike and we were down to our last fifty cents. As I filled our three children’s stockings with nuts and oranges, I dreaded the following morning when they would see how little Santa had left. Much to my surprise and delight, I never heard one of them complain. If anything they seemed to be more appreciative of the few gifts they did receive. That was the year I learned that sometimes less is more.

I received the most meaningful gift during our saddest year. Our oldest son died a few months before Christmas and I couldn’t even bring myself to put up a tree. I cried most of that day and I don’t remember what presents I received, but I do remember the gift. For it was that year that I learned that we’re stronger than we think we are, and though we lose so very much with the death of a love one, we can’t possibly count all the blessings that remain.

I don’t know what gifts are in store for me this Christmas, but I do know this: the gifts that touch our hearts are the ones that stay with us the longest.

Debbie Fuller Thomas (Raising Rain):
Christmases were sometimes lonely for us on the west coast when our children were young since all our relatives lived east of the Mississippi. My husband was a pastor, and Christmas programs, holiday activities and Christmas Eve candlelight services made it impractical to go home for the holidays. Talking by phone to my mother and sisters on Christmas Day was always bittersweet and there were a few Christmas Days when I really struggled to keep it together and hide my homesickness from my husband and children.

One Christmas when my sister sent our gifts a few weeks before the holidays, she included a shoebox with a note that said mom had given her a few old Christmas decorations and she thought I might like to have some of them. When I opened the box, I was overcome. It held the miniature houses and figures that had been displayed beneath our Christmas tree along with our trainset every year when I was growing up. There was a little log cabin, sections of interlocking fencing, small animals, a wishing well, and little cardboard houses with cellophane windows and bottle brush trees. She also included my favorite Rudolph ornament that I loved so much.

My husband and children were not impressed with my treasure, but I was moved to tears. It was so comforting to hold these childhood memories in my hands once again. Every year when I take out the pieces and display them, I step back in time to my childhood for a few wonderful moments and reconnect with family memories.

Beverly Lewis (The Missing, The Shunning):
My all-time best and most meaningful Christmas present ever was a belated one. When the call came from the adoption agency that a beautiful, healthy baby girl was born on December 27th that year, my wait for our first baby was over at long last. Six years of fervent praying and hoping...and, yes, the seemingly endless waiting, faded quickly as this precious, cuddly and pink bundle was placed into my arms. I'll never forget that amazing day...a truly special gift!

James Landis (The Last Day):
The most meaningful Christmas gift I ever received was something as insubstantial as an idea and as meaningful as an answered prayer.

It came, as have many of the good things in my life, from my wife, Denise.

It was the celebration of Christmas itself.

I had grown up without the celebration of Christmas. I had come to believe that it was a crass holiday, having almost nothing to do with the honoring of goodness and almost everything to do with the spending of money.

I met Denise in March, 1982. We fell in love almost immediately. That December, she said, “Want to come with me to shop for a Christmas tree?”

“A Christmas tree?” I said.

“Yes. You know. One of those evergreens people put up in their living rooms and decorate, and then for about a month or so they are happier than they are any other time of the year.”

“Because of a tree?”

“Because of the meaning of a tree,” she answered.

So we went out into the streets of Manhattan, where Christmas trees were sold on the sidewalks long before cheap watches and pashmina scarves were sold on those same sidewalks.

The trees were scrawny and expensive, but Denise seemed to know what to look for. So when she finally found a tree that was at least a bit more resplendent than a wicker broom, she paid for it and we carried it back to my apartment.

She lived around the corner with her parents. She got them to share their decorations and she decorated our first tree.

I couldn’t believe I was living with a Christmas tree. I couldn’t believe my good luck in living with a woman who had gotten me to live with a Christmas tree.

We celebrated our first Christmas together.

I was exceptionally happy for a whole month.

Within a year we were married and living in that same apartment. Our first child, Jacob, was born on January 4, 1984.

When I took him and Denise home from Mount Sinai Hospital, that winter’s Christmas tree was still up.

So far as I am concerned, it has never come down.

Irene Hannon (An Eye for An Eye):
Through the years, I’ve received many meaningful Christmas gifts. Some that come to mind are a whole wardrobe for my Tammy doll, handmade by my mom. (Back in the days, you didn’t buy a new doll every time you wanted a change of clothes, a la Barbie). Wooden doll furniture for my life-sized baby doll, handmade by my dad (which I just passed on to my two nieces.) Loaves of my favorite homemade bread from my mom. All of these things were special because they represented an investment of time and were made in love. That’s a characteristic all my favorite gifts through the years share, no matter the occasion

But I firmly believe that the best things in life aren’t things at all. In keeping with that, my all-time favorite Christmas present was two years ago. In the months leading up to Christmas 2007, both of my parents suffered potentially fatal health issues. My dad had a brain tumor and was plagued with seizures following surgery. My mom had a pulmonary embolism and other blood clots, followed by a fall in which she broke her pelvis and her arm, sending her to a rehab center for weeks. On top of all that, a week before Christmas my husband fell on the ice and broke his arm very badly in two places. Surgery was a serious possibility.

As it turned out, my husband didn’t need surgery. My mom was released from rehab in mid December. My dad’s seizures went away. So everyone was home and on the mend for Christmas. I didn’t know at the time if things would continue to improve for my parents, so I cherished that time together. I’m happy to report that they DID continue to improve, and we’ll all be together once again this year.

When people ask me what I want for Christmas these days, I can truly say I already have the best gift of all. Because as long as I can celebrate this special, holy day surrounded by the people I love, with good health for all, I have everything.

Ocienna Fleiss (Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, MT w/ Tricia Goyer):
You’ve heard of Gary Chapman’s book The Five Love Languages? It’s a very eye-opening little work which describes the ways we give and receive love. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve gotten the feeling that some of the five languages are more respectable than others. Have you?

“Acts of Service” is way up there. If you show love by mowing an older neighbor’s lawn—you’re obviously incredibly sanctified. “Words of Affirmation” also soars. Everybody likes someone who showers them with compliments. “Quality Time” communicates a lofty self-sacrificial tone: “Just being with you is all I need.” Physical touch may fall down a few notches (maybe we shouldn’t go there).

But the lowest on the totem pole, it seems to me, is my love language—giving and receiving gifts. Why? If you need gifts to feel loved, doesn’t that make you materialistic? And everyone knows a parent who gives their child “things” is only trying to “buy” the wee one’s affection. Terrible! What kind of parent is that?

Well, I don’t think I’m materialistic (I try not to be) and I certainly don’t think of myself as buying my kids love (hope I’m not that way!). But giving and receiving gifts is one big way—a really fun way—I show and feel love.

You may think I’m in hog heaven around Christmas, but actually we gifties often run into more resistance this time of year than any other.

You’ve probably heard it. Around Christmas, people openly complain about getting too many gifts. I shake my head. Too many? Really? A friend once told me her family wasn’t giving anybody any gifts at all! I can’t tell you how sad I felt for them (and me, because that meant I wasn’t getting one either! Ha ha!)

Now, let me just say, I understand our society goes commercially crazy this time of year. And I certainly don’t give very expensive gifts—can’t afford that. But how awesome is it when I find just the perfect pair of butterfly socks for my sister-in-law? Hee hee hee! Or when I know my seven year old son will squeal with uncontainable excitement when he opens the video game system we got him (handed down from a friend). Woo hoo!

My dear husband knows this about me, and he gives me the most meaningful gift every year—permission to revel in the gifts I receive and shower little love-filled packages on others. And for me that’s the best gift of all—and maybe it’s not too disrespectable, is it?

Jan Watson (Sweetwater Run, Troublesome Creek):
A few years ago as Christmas approached, I was just another frustrated "wannabe" author, a "wannabe" because I had a finished manuscript, and frustrated because I didn't have a clue what to do with it. Although my family was encouraging, I had little hope that I'd ever see my stack of paper as an actual book.

On Christmas morning, as my family gathered around our decorated cedar tree, my youngest son played Santa Claus and handed out our presents. Soon the floor was littered with empty boxes, bright paper and shiny bows. Curiously, there was one gift left under the tree. Stephen handed it to me. "I think Santa left this for you, Mom," he said.

Carefully savoring the moment, I peeled off the wrap and opened the box. I could hardly take in the surprise for nestled in white tissue paper was a book. My book, Troublesome Creek. Stephen had printed my pages in novel form and bound the book in beautiful cover art.

Troublesome Creek has since been published by Tyndale House, and my fifth book comes out next August. So, praise the Lord, I'm no longer a wannabe. When a new novel is published, I get author copies in the mail. Each one brings joy and delight, but nothing tops my son's gift from the heart, the gift that made me see the possibility.

Don Hoesel (Elisha's Bones):
The most meaningful Christmas present I've ever received was the Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle my parents bought me even though for the whole month leading up to Christmas they'd been saying 'But Ralphie, you'll shoot your eye out.' Which was pretty strange because my name isn't Ralphie...

Truthfully, though, I'm not sure I can really pick a single present. I think, instead, I'll mention the givers: my kids, ages 7 and 9. Every year I get gifts from each of them--usually something they've made. And the excited and earnest looks on their faces as I open the gifts has to be my favorite part of Christmas. Kids like to get presents, of course, but I think there's something empowering for them to be able to give too--especially if it's something they've made, something that really comes from them. It makes no difference what the gifts are (I've gotten Christmas ornaments, unrecognizable things made from clay, coupon books good for things like hugs and room cleanings, etc)--whatever I unwrap from them are my favorites presents every year.

Liz Curtis Higgs (Thorn in My Heart):
Last Christmas my daughter-in-law-to-be presented me with a wee piece of Scotland--literally! To be sure, it is a very small parcel of land (roughly one square yard), but what truly blessed me was the thought and care that went into the gift. She knows I adore Scotland and rightly guessed I would be elated to stake a tiny claim on my adopted homeland.

Leanna Ellis (Lookin' Back Texas, Once in a Blue Moon):
The most meaningful Christmas present I ever received was not one you could wrap and stick under the tree. I love Christmas. I love everything about it. I start listening to Christmas music in July when the heat in Texas is off the charts. I love having a great excuse to shop. I love wrapping the presents and putting them under the tree. I love the anticipation that comes with the rushing around; it's a kinetic energy that seems to permeate the air.

In 2005, all was a 'go' for the shopping and baking and wrapping. It was two weeks before Christmas and my sister and I had just taken my kids shopping all day for our yearly tradition. It was a glorious December day when the sky is sparkling and the air is crisp and cold and you can smell hot cider. I called my husband and asked if he wanted to meet us for dinner. There was something odd in his voice and I asked what was wrong. He'd been laid off that day. Two weeks before Christmas. And when he got home, he found our 13.5 year old dog had passed away. Later, when I returned home, tears streaming down my face the whole way, I found that my manuscript had been rejected. A triple whammy. Now, you might be asking, what on earth kind of a present is that? Well, let's back up a moment. You see, we'd been praying about my husband's job for a couple of years, unsure if he should stay or try to find a new one. We'd also been praying about our dog, Muffet. She was my baby before I ever met my husband. But she was getting older and had become blind and deaf. We knew her time was coming and we wanted it to be as pain free as possible for her. I also really didn't want to have to make a hard decision about her and have to explain that to my young children.

So we'd been praying. And I'd been praying that God would open the right doors for my writing, placing my manuscript in front of the right editor at the right house. So, I guess that wasn't the right one. That sounds like a flippant answer but in actuality, as my husband and I stood in our driveway, hugging and crying over all the losses that day, we knew God had answered our prayers. And that was an awesome gift that Christmas. I won't lie to you and say there weren't tears. There were. Lots. But He began to open the right doors for us, doors that might not have opened otherwise. If my husband hadn't been thrust out of a job, then he wouldn't have started consulting. And that has been such a blessing, even now as he works full time for a company again. My sweet dog died peacefully in her sleep that day. It is hard to let a beloved pet go, but it was a learning lesson for all of us. Not even a sparrow falls from the sky that our heavenly Father doesn't see it. And God did begin to move me toward a different possibility with my writing. By the following year, I had a new agent and a contract. God answers prayers. Every one. Sometimes it's not exactly how we want Him to answer our prayers, but there is a reason and there is a purpose and a plan. Jeremiah 29:11 is a verse I have clung to many times and it is a promise God has for both me and you. Merry Christmas.

Liz Johnson (The Kidnapping of Kenzie Thorn):
I love giving gifts! And I’ve gotten a lot of really cool ones over the years, too. Like this year, my writing buddy and I got each other the same novel—and we knew it! And I’m sure the look on my face was priceless when my roommate gave me a dvd of my favorite made for TV Christmas movie, which isn’t even available for sale. And how could I forget the adorable pictures of my nieces and nephew over the years that adorn my office? But the most meaningful Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten—aside from the gift of Christ’s birth—is one that I’ve gotten every year since I moved away from Arizona. It doesn’t look like much and just comes in a plain white envelope. My name is written on the outside in my mom’s perfect cursive. Inside is a blue check, made out to me, with almost enough money to cover my flight back to Arizona for the holidays. But it’s not just money. It’s an invitation to come home next year and a reminder that my family really values having me visit. It ensures that I’ll be able to buy the next ticket home. Living 1200 miles from my parents and siblings and their families is hard for me, so when I see that envelope, I’m reminded that I’m part of a family who loves me and misses me and wants me back next year (or sooner) as much as I do.

Tina Ann Forkner (Rose House, Ruby Among Us):
The best Christmas gift I ever received was this true story about the meaning of Christmas from my Grandma Carrie Gray who grew up in a small Northeastern Oklahoma town. From her traditional reading of the Biblical story each year to stories about the magical Santa Clause, Grandma Gray always inspired me to believe at Christmas time. This is her story the way she told it to me:

When I was just a little girl like you, Tina, I went to a one room school house. Every year our school would decorate and the whole community would come out for our annual Christmas celebration. It was magical. Santa Clause would come to the school just before the gathering and by the time we got there ourselves, he would be gone and the presents would be piled under the tree for all the children. We were always amazed that Santa managed to sneak into the school on Christmas Eve without being seen.

While the presents waited to be opened, we children would put on a grand play for the grownups about Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. After that we would all gather around the Christmas tree to see what Santa had brought. One year, times were even harder than usual, so Momma sat me down to have a talk about Santa. By the time our talk was over, I could hardly contain my tears.

With sadness in her eyes, Momma had told me there was no Santa Clause. She went on to explain that all the presents that would be handed out to the children later that evening were really bought and put under the community tree by their parents. Momma and Daddy didn’t have the money to buy any presents that year and Momma didn’t want me to think that Santa had forgotten me. There would not be a present under that tree for me. My heart was broken. I wished with all my heart that I could stay home.

Later that night when we all gathered around the tree, I took a deep breath. I resigned myself to knowing that there was no present for me because my parents were poor and there really was no Santa Clause. I watched as each name was called and each child opened their gift. There were trucks, cars, and baby dolls, but thanks to Momma I knew where those toys had really come from. I was sad about there being no Santa, but knowing the truth softened the blow of not having a present, at least a little bit. I sat very still until the end and was glad when that part of the celebration was over with. I stood up to go to Momma and Daddy, but my teacher’s voice stopped me in my tracks. “Carrie Jones!”

It was a mistake, but she kept calling my name. Finally I turned and she motioned me over to the Christmas tree. In her hand was a box wrapped in beautiful Christmas paper and she held it out. I looked at Momma whose chin had dropped right to the floor. She finally gave me a doubtful nod and I accepted the present.

I opened it slowly, wanting to savor the moment and all the while worrying that it was a mistake. The teacher would soon take it away because it wasn’t for me, even though my name was written right on the tag. Inside the box was a porcelain doll more beautiful than I had ever seen in my life. My Momma looked as shocked as I was. Giant tears ran down her face. I don’t think she had ever seen a doll that pretty in all her life either.

We were both amazed at what had to be a miracle. There was no way Momma and Daddy could have afforded a doll like that. There was only one way that a doll so special could have ended up under the community Christmas tree for me on that special Christmas Eve. On that night, Momma and I both believed. In our hearts we knew, there really was a Santa Claus.

Tricia Goyer (Love Finds You in Lonesome Prairie, MT w/ Ocienna Fleiss, Songbird Under a German Moon):
My most meaningful Christmas gift was the dollhouse I received when I was seven. My grandfather made it and my grandma decorated it. Grandpa also made furniture for it. I still remember the moment that I opened it and saw the little kitchen with curtains, the bedroom with a homemade quilt and so much more. The dollhouse was passed to my cousin, who later passed it on ... but the memory is still close to my heart.

Christina Berry (The Familiar Stranger):
One of my biggest regrets of childhood? My grandpa NEVER got to meet Silly Santa. Every single Christmas Eve Silly Santa came up the hallway, Grandpa Smith had just gone to the bathroom. When he returned, though, I'd share every detail about what the black-bearded tall man with a fur hat or dishtowel or nylons on his head had brought. One year, a paper fish since all mine kept dying. Another, a rope to catch lions as we left for the mission field in Africa. And one of the last years I was young enough to get Silly Santa gifts, fake eyelashes for batting my eyes more blatantly at all the boys. Truly, my grandfather's attention and love was the best present over the years!

J. Mark Bertrand (Back on Murder):
I’ve received plenty of Christmas gifts, but only one of them ever saved my life. Early in December 1977, during a routine exploration of my mother’s closet, I discovered a Pittsburgh Steelers uniform complete with pads and helmet sized for a seven-year-old. Namely me. The number on the back of the jersey was 88, which belonged to my high-flying hero Lynn Swann.

When she returned from work and found me all dressed up, my mother took everything in stride. Santa came early and left me a present, I explained. “He does that,” she said, never missing a beat, “but when you go to sleep, the present disappears until Christmas.” That night I slept in the uniform, but when I woke the next day it was gone.

On Christmas morning, dressed once again as Lynn Swann, I was the star of the neighborhood football game, the youngest player by far. My teenaged competitors didn’t tackle me. Instead, they’d pitch me in the air, and true to the number on my back, I’d somersault to the ground and keep running … right up to the moment one of them pitched me seven or eight feet up, high enough to see the shingles on our roof. I remember seeing my feet kicking, nothing under them but the clouds. After an instant of weightlessness, my head planted in the ground.

When I opened my eyes, everyone was circled around, staring down at me expectantly. Probably waiting to run in case I turned out to be dead. I wasn’t, but my body was numb. They lifted me and brushed the mud off my clothes. Wrenching my helmet off, I found it was streaked in mud, too. There was even a dent in the ground where I’d landed.

Thanks to that helmet I was alive, and thanks to that uniform I knew football wasn’t my thing. After that, whenever the neighborhood kids played tackle, I stayed inside to read. I even started writing stories and illustrating them. As far as I know, none of those boys went on to play professional football, but I did go on to write for a living. And maybe I have number 88 to thank for that, too.

Lisa Wingate (Never Say Never, Word Gets Around):
The most meaningful Christmas gift I ever received didn't come from a store. It came from a gumball machine. In terms of jewelry, it was not pricey. It was made of silver-coated plastic and sported a pink gemstone of unknown origin. The ring cost exactly twenty-five cents, a single quarter, but it was all a three-year-old boy had in his pocket. He had to beg for the money while waiting rather impatiently in the checkout line after a long day of last-minute holiday shopping. I'll never know, of course, what happened at the exact moment that he stood in front of the potpouri of shiny gumball machines. I have imagined that moment many times, when I come across the pink diamond ring nestled among much more expensive things in my jewelry box. I picture the little boy in his Big Smith overalls and cowboy boots, standing in front of the machines, his chubby little fingers caressing the quarter as he considers Superballs, and Batman tattoos, and everlasting Gobstoppers. I see his eyes narrow as he weighs the possibilities. His mouth waters as he thinks of sour straws and Skittles. Then he sees the rings, and he imagines how thrilled his mom would be to have something so fine--how beautiful it would look on her finger at church on Sunday. Most certainly, everyone there would admire it. His mom will be the best-dressed mom in the place, the most special mom of all. If he buys the ring.

He considers the options again--all the temptations that are just a turn of the crank away. And then he remembers that it's almost Christmas. He puts the quarter carefully into the jewelry machine, turns the handle, waits with anticipation as the plastic bubble drops into the hatch below. When it does, he grabs it up, peeks inside. It's everything he'd imagined. It's perfect. He closes both hands around it, runs back to the checkout stand, holds it up, smiles and says, "Mommy, I gotted you a trit-mas pres-nit." In that moment, gumballs and skittles, and Batman tattoos are the furthest things from his mind. It's Christmas, after all, and his heart tells him that Christmas isn't about what getting what you want. It's about giving the most good and perfect gift, in celebration of the Good and Perfect Gift that was given to us in a tiny stable, in a town with a name he can never quite pronounce, a long, long time ago, in a place even farther away than Grandma's house.

Judy Christie (Gone to Green):
When I was 10 or 11, my mother took me and my younger brother to a special store to pick out a Christmas ornament for our very own. Money was tight, and this was a big deal. I chose an elf with blue hair and red-and-white striped pants. He has lost a shoe somewhere through the past four decades, but I still love him. My brother got a Santa in a cardboard car. It lost a wheel somewhere along the way but still adorns my "little" brother's tree. My mother died young, and the simple Christmas memories with her still warm my heart. It's amazing how at Christmas the little things can make a big impact, and I try to remember that in this day of faster, flashier and more frenzied.

Neta Jackson (Who Do I Talk To?, Yada Yada series):
Ok, Ok. Don't know that I can decide what is the most meaningful gift I've ever received, but I can think of a few. After my parents-in-law died, we "inherited" some old furniture that was in pretty bad shape. But my husband took this old 5-drawer stand-up dresser and refinished it for me for Christmas (2001), brought out the beauty of the wood, put on new drawer knobs . . . this is something I use every day and I LOVE it! (Before that dresser, I had a rickety old thing with not enough room so I used the bottom drawer of my husband's "manly" dresser.) That same Christmas I woke up to find all my coffee cups hanging neatly under a cupboard from newly installed cup hooks! I'd been asking for hubby to "hang the cups" for eons--and suddenly Christmas morning, there they were. I loved having the cups on display but off the counter!

Then there are the "practical joke" gifts we play on family members. It seems my daughter-in-love Kristin and I are going round for round. It started the Christmas I gave her a toilet paper holder with a little man on a bicycle, so that when you pull out the TP, he rides his bicycle furiously. It's installed in their bathroom. The next Christmas, I got a tissue box cover shaped like a Solomon Island "statue head" in which you put a box of tissues, then pull out the tissues through the "nose"! We call it Mr. Shnoze and it gets a laugh from visitors because we keep it on the lamp table in the living room. Now the ball is in my DIL's lap now. Wonder what I'll get for Christmas this year???

C.J. Darlington's first novel, Thicker Than Blood, was the winner of the 2008 Christian Writers Guild's Operation First Novel contest. Her second novel, Bound by Guilt, has recently released from Tyndale, and you can watch that trailer today! When she's not writing, she's reading. Her hobbies include horseback riding, oil painting, and book collecting. She is also a contributing editor at Family Fiction Magazine. Visit her online at her author website and at her blog where she talks about books, writing, and publishing. You can also look her up at Twitter and Facebook.