Handmade holiday

Like many of my generation, I grew up with the idea that handmade was synonymous with “homely.” My mother– an expert seamstress– rarely sewed for me. When I convinced her to, I usually ended up relegatating the garments to the back of my closet, behind the store-bought blouses with Peter Pan collars and JC Penneys slacks that I only touched on school picture day. Jumpers and corduroys were too fussy for my taste, no matter how much I enjoyed picking out the fabric.

While both my mother and grandmother still retained the lost arts of knitting, sewing, crocheting, baking, and canning, I knew even as a small child that they were anomalies; none of my friends’ mothers could so much as embroider a hand towel, and I knew it. As a result, the skills around me didn’t hold appeal, and, more than that, they didn’t seem to hold value in the real world I lived in on a daily basis. I just didn’t see why my Mamaw and mom spent all summer growing tomatoes in our backyard, then labored for hot, sweaty days in the kitchen peeling, slicing, and canning our basement shelves full of homemade spaghetti sauce and stewed tomatoes. The Kroger sold cans of the same stuff 2 for a dollar. Why bother?

Oh, the shame.

I kick myself now, rolling my eyes at my own shortsightedness. My earliest years were full of homemade sweet pickles, afghans, and Easter dresses. By the time I was eight or nine, I was fully immersed in boxed cake mixes and never again wore an item of clothing made by the hands of someone who loved me. Life was certainly more uniform … but it was never again as creative.

As I’ve worked to master these homemaking skills in my own life, I’ve also tried to impress upon my children the inherent value in something that does not come from a store. It’s no stretch for a small child. When the greatest thing you have to offer is the rock you splashed with paint, the snowflake you painstakingly trimmed from construction paper, or the image you worked so hard to capture with crayon, you understand that the skirt Momma made is something she worked hard on, something she dreamed of creating, and, ultimately, presenting just to you — flaws and all.

And so Christmas here is a time of secret crafting, a time when that thing on Momma’s needles might just be for you. It could be a scarf, or a sweater, or fingerless gloves. Or you might be invited to riffle through the fabric drawers (or shop the giant bolts at the store) looking for something perfect for someone else, then try your hand at piecing together something unique for the recipient. You might get to bake cookies for a friend, or tie ribbon on jam for a family at church.

These are the things I love most about the gifting aspect of Christmas, if I am honest. Knitting something with a prayer in each stitch for the person for whom I am creating. Knowing how perfect, how personal the item I’m making will be for that child or family member. Yes, I’ve had instances where handmade gifts have flopped. Not everyone would choose something crafted by a person over the current fashion. I get it, and try to respect the preferences of the folks to whom we are giving. But if you’re ever on the receiving end of a gift from me, and it happens to be something I labored over, know this: I made it for you. Just you. My mind, the entire time I was working, was on you. I selected the colors, the fabrics, the contents, the styles … for you. As I worked, I prayed. I asked God’s blessing over your life to continue, prayed for health and safety and specific things to your circumstances, and gave thanks for your presence in the life of my family. No, I didn’t spend time in a store scanning racks or shelves. I didn’t go on the hunt for the perfect thing. But the thing you’re holding comes with something you can’t buy— my love.