The Gift of What Truly Matters

Someone asked me the other day, “If you could only afford food or a gift, which would you choose?” The question settled on me like a cold December breeze, the kind that carries both excitement and a quiet sadness. It reminded me that, behind the sparkling lights and cheerful music, many families—who look perfectly happy from the outside—face that exact decision every December. I would choose food. Growing up, my parents believed that the smell of a warm meal on the table, the sound of laughter echoing through the kitchen, and the simple joy of playing games together mattered more than anything wrapped in shiny paper. I still remember the aroma of cinnamon and pork roasting on Christmas Eve, the clatter of pots, the steam fogging the windows, and the comfort of all of us being together. Those moments lasted longer than any store-bought gift ever could. Still, it’s natural to want to give your family the best—especially if you come from a culture where gift-giving is a beautiful tradition. So I’ve been thinking of ways to create a meaningful Christmas without spending much. One idea is homemade treats. The smell of fresh cookies or warm banana bread filling the house is a gift all on its own. A dear niece of mine—who has a heart big enough to make everyone feel special—has been busy baking treats and pouring candles for her friends. I can already imagine her kitchen filled with the scent of vanilla wax and sugar, music playing in the background, and her smiling as she wraps each little gift. I also think back to when I lived on the West Coast. Every three months, four of us friends gathered together, but Christmas was always our time—it was a must. I used to make them earrings by hand. I can still feel the smooth beads between my fingers, the tiny sound of metal rings clicking, and the look on their faces when they asked where I had bought them. They were shocked when I said, “I made them.” Those were gifts made with love, not money. Another beautiful gesture is giving music. When I lived on the East Coast, one of my coworkers gave me a playlist for Christmas. Another made a cloth ornament that still smelled faintly of lavender from her home. A friend created a beaded ornament that sparkled like tiny ice crystals. Those gifts felt personal—like little pieces of someone’s heart. You could also create a photo album, fill a memory jar with your most cherished moments, or write down stories that still make you smile. These kinds of gifts age like wine—they become more precious with time. Or plan an experience. A walk around the neighborhood just as the cold air smells like pine trees, a hike wrapped in scarves, a picnic with warm drinks, a game night full of laughter, or even a little scavenger hunt. Moments like those stay with people far longer than anything bought from a shelf. You can even offer your time—pet sitting for someone who needs help, or teaching a simple skill you’re good at. Sometimes your presence and your effort are the greatest gifts you can offer. In the end, holidays are about togetherness—sharing ideas, stories, and memories. If you can afford a store-bought gift, that’s wonderful. If you can’t, that’s okay too. Bring yourself, your kindness, and your positive energy. That alone brings warmth to any room. Wishing everyone a beautiful and heartfelt holiday season.