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One Photo: One Story; It's made by a child.

The endless tiresome race for perfection. A perfect score, a perfect body, we strive for perfection always. It’s getting exhausting. It’s coming on Christmas and the race is on. The prize; The perfect gift. I scoured the shoppes this weekend searching… I made snap decisions on the price up and down the aisles. Searching for perfection, yet I couldn’t find it. I picked items up and put them back, abandoned my online checkout only to be besieged by email and social media messages claiming, I would miss out on the perfect gift. Humbug! What is it that I’m actually looking for? I have no idea. I struggle with this every Christmas. Do adults complicate Christmas? The avalanche of consumerism is bearing down on us right now. Sales, savings, no interest until next Christmas, hassle free shopping and now curbside pick-up already gift wrapped. Easier than ever.

Every year, I am reminded to calm and quell the panic by the placement of a very special Christmas ornament. It has its own special box and is placed prominently on the tree. It’s treated with care. It deserves a special place.

It’s a pinecone decked out with feathers and a cotton ball head topped with a gold halo. It was made by my son Devin when he was very young. He gave it to me after the storm of divorce. It was all he had. It came from hi heart and soul, a gift of love. The simplest gifts can foster deep joy. So, what is it we’re searching for again? Not all gifts are expensive store bought hottest new item on the market things. Another child gave me a gift that I use as a daily reminder. It’s a coffee cup. My name in child’s artwork. It was given to me over 20 years ago. When my wife pours coffee, she says, “Oh you’re going to have a great day. You’re having coffee in Brendan’s mug.”

The handle came off the mug during a cycle in the dish washer. I glued the handle back on. It’s wounded. It’s perfect.

A few years back Brendan made me a new one. I liked it, It was not the same. I like the wounded one flaws and all glued back together. It’s perfect. Brendan was five when he gave it to me. A child’s gift. So innocent and pure. The Christmas season is just that, innocent and pure. Thousands of years ago, God gave us a gift. So simple. Born in a stable in a far-off corner of the desert. A light. A gift. A Child. Happy Birthday Jesus.

Merry Christmas my friends.


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