(12/2018) While thinking back through the many thoughtful gifts I’ve received through my childhood, teenage, and young adult years, it is difficult to pinpoint one single gift I received. I appreciate my God-parents who never failed to send me a card in the mail with $20 and a sweet message all the way from Oregon every time I had a birthday or Christmas rolled around again.

I appreciate the gifts my grandmother always sent to me and my sister, especially considering that we are just two of eighteen of her grandchildren. I appreciate the many gifts I received from my parents throughout the years, and those that appeared in the night from St. Nick as well.

The one gift that I remember the most, however, is not one of great value, or one that took the greatest amount of time to come up with, but it’s a gift that brought me back into a time of pure innocence. The precious memories of childhood are some that can never be replaced.

When I was very young, before I began kindergarten, I had a very special toy; it felt like this toy had been my friend during my early years. Nearly every person I know had a cherished toy or item that they played with as a child, and even slept with every night. Some had a blanket, some a teddy bear, or even a special baby bottle that was taken around with them everywhere. Mine, however, was a stuffed dog, whom I had named (at an age no greater than three) "Gundenga." A strange name? Certainly, but what toddler doesn’t have their way with words and an infinite imagination? I spent a lot of time with this stuffed dog, who I’ve been told was originally given to me while in line at a Wells-Fargo bank when I was just two years old. I played with him during the day and I slept with him in my arms through the night, holding him tighter if I was frightened of the unknown noises I could hear in the darkness of my room and across my house.

Soon before I began kindergarten, Gundenga mysteriously disappeared and was nowhere to be found. Five-year-old Morgan searched up and down the house, even in places which had not been touched in quite a while before Gundenga had gone missing. Eventually, I gave up on the search and moved on with my life as a young child, missing my stuffed dog terribly, yet moving forward in the best of ways by making friends with my classmates in elementary school and learning how to navigate the world around me. I never forgot about my old friend who used to keep me company at night, but I stopped looking.

Christmas morning, several years down the road, I woke up, thrilled, to see what gifts were left by my family and Santa Claus. The aroma of cinnamon potpourri and pinecones filled my house as I made my way down the stairs while my younger sister begged for my parents to get out of their bed and meet us by the Christmas tree.

Before anyone even made it to the living room to sit beside me and begin our Christmas morning tradition, my curiosity got the best of me. I didn’t begin unwrapping presents or even shaking the larger ones around, but only began looking at the wrapped boxes and counting how many each of my family members received. As I was looking around the boxes that were left by Santa for both me and my sister, I noticed something behind one of them, not wrapped or bow-tied in any way, but just sitting there with enveloped beside it. It was Gundenga.

Tears began to fill my eyes. I couldn’t figure out how Santa had managed to bring me my most cherished item. I opened the envelope and pulled out a short letter, typed out.

Dear Morgan,

I have found Gundenga in the land of lost toys and brought him back home.

Merry Christmas,

Santa Claus

As you can imagine, any questions I had about the existence of Santa were gone. This inexpensive little plush toy was very sentimental to me, even at the age of seven.

When it comes to the best gift I’ve ever given, I don’t think about how much money I spent. It’s the care that’s put into a gift that really matters.

I have personally made a variety of things before, even though I’m not as crafty as I’d like to be. I have make cakes for my family on their birthdays and I have handmade cards for friends on other occasions, but I admit I wish I was craftier than I am.

When I was in the eighth grade, I took a home economics class where we learned how to cook certain dishes and to use a sewing machine. We had made small pillows and pajama pants in the past, but eventually we made it to the final class project where we made blankets. They didn’t use a sewing machine, but still took a lot of time and effort because of all the cutting and tying that was required.

I made my own the first time around, making just a few small mistakes before the holiday season was beginning to roll around, I decided that these blankets would make great gifts considering that they were hand made with just a little bit of care and time.

At this point, I had already bought a gift for my mom, so I decided that these blankets should be made for my dad and my sister. It would be much easier to have the help of my mom to drive me to the fabric store (considering that I was thirteen and couldn’t drive myself quite yet).

I remember spreading all the fabric out on our pool table and working on it when my dad was still at work and my sister was at her gymnastics classes. I did this every day for a whole week or two, considering my short time window to work on it, until they were finally done.

I remember getting a positive response from both of them and they are both still used today around the house. These blankets were by no means the most expensive or spectacular gifts in the world, but because of the effort and time I put into them, I would consider them the best gifts I have given. I definitely strive in the future to put more thought and time into the gifts I give, as gifts are not about the expenses, but the thought and love that was put into them.