Yesterday was Christmas. When we opened presents with the family, my youngest told me that her present was at her Grandmother’s house, and that I would have to wait to get it until we got there. She had apparently made it for me the last time that she was there, but forgot to bring it home with her.

When it was present time at her Grandmother’s house, we opened most of the presents. Finally, she remembered that she had not given me her gift. She ran off to the garage to fetch the present. Her grandmother said something to the extent, “Oh, I am so sorry, John.” I was told to close my eyes as she brought the gift in. Moments later, I was holding my very own coat hanger, made with love by my seven year old daughter. The coat hanger is pictured.

She had taken a scrap of pressure treated 2X4, put in nails (with plenty of wood glue for strenghth). She also decorated the base with some pieces of styrofoam in the shape of hearts. It is a beautiful gift. I need to find a way to hang in the workshop as place to hang some tools.

It reminds me of a story I heard recently. A boy had made an ashtray for his father at school. It was hard to recognize, but that’s what it was. Years later, when he was in college, he visited his dad’s office and was amazed to see the lump of clay on his dad’s desk. It was then the he realized that the value of the gift was not in its beauty or craftsmanship, but in who had made it.