For as long as I can remember — sometimes 50-some years ago and sometimes only a minute ago — I have found amazement in the ability for gifts to create themselves. My children will roll their eyes at this, but they will also shake their heads: yes. Oh yes. Here she goes. Grab a Coke and a bag of chips and get comfortable... Something inside me believes as strongly as I believe in truth that everything around us and among us has some thread of life and spirit of giving. When these characteristics make themselves known, it feels like a gift to me — I mean not to ME, but to me. I can recall, many years ago, thinking it pretty brave that the grass grew back after being mowed time and time again, especially when the hardworking little green blades knew darn well they'd be cut back again anyway. If the sun shone on a day I really needed to be out in it, well, you may as well have put a bow on sunrise that day. Talk about gifts. I was thrilled that my children chose to be born, as if they could choose not to be. Well, maybe they could have; they are each pretty determined creatures. I'm just glad that they swam to the light. My children used to give me coupons for holidays like Mother's Day or (puke) birthday. I still have the Ovaltine coupon jar in the attic. I didn't use the coupons much, not nearly as much as I could have, but just having the thoughts and ideas from my own children—well, it was overwhelming. I mean, come on—who doesn't find it incredibly invaluable to have a 10-minute "playing with hair" while waiting? When my car starts, I am thankful. It might just be damn tired of being a multi-use vehicle and decide not to run anymore. Such a gift. Cooking—messy cheffing—when the food gets eaten, I am thankful for those who took the chance. Yep, even now. The fact that my counselor continues to support me and sees me weekly is unbelievable. I continue to try to prepare myself for the "You're fired, Melanie" words, but he reassures me that we will keep talking and we have lots of work to do. Don't I know it. The stories and experiences that have entered his space over these years have filled every nook, cranny, and corner with silken, interwoven webs from my past and present. Still, "See you next week" comes out at the end of our time and I am always surprised. Always. Isn't it a gift to find a safe place where you can completely bear your soul and all that lies enmeshed in it? Gift. Connecting with and forming a trusting and delightful friendship with a friend's daughter—gift. The gift of watching her become... is such a present. I enjoy working in the dirt. My back doesn't love it so much, so my effective working time is limited, but I find calm and hopefulness in gardening. When bulbs come up—when vegetables produce, flowers bloom, cuttings take root—how are those not huge, huge gifts? I am putting them in the ground to sleep. No one told them they had to get up. Call me quirky. I don't care. I appreciate the simple gifts of nature and friends, and that's about all I can take, too. For good reason, but old reasoning, I have a visceral reaction to being given gifts outside that simple range. I'm working on it (see above... weekly talk time with one who knows and is wise). When the work church good elves and good fairies leave me treats and presents, I am stunned. I've been here over five years now and still have the same reaction. Home church surrounds me with more gifting than I can fit into this post even if I changed to a 3-point font. When my boss reviews me and doesn't say, "It's been nice having you, but really—let's be real: you just aren't cut out for this job," I walk away in a daze. That's a big gift. Big. A couple of years ago, I rode my neat, old, worn bike to work. Before the day was out, the bike was being driven by a regular visitor to work church who needed transportation to find work. Even though I knew this visitor well enough to know he would probably sell it and purchase things I didn't want to know about, I thought giving him a dose of trust might be a good thing, so I sent him off on my bike, where he was spotted half an hour later by a work friend who saw him driving like a bat... We didn't read any headlines about robbers on bikes the next day, so we let it go. I started looking for a replacement but I wasn't really sure what to get. Classifieds read: "Middle-aged body seeking comfortable two-wheeler..." What to get? A friend, who is framily now, called and took me looking. He and his best-in-the-world girlfriend and I had fun shopping. Actually, I think they had fun shopping while I was having heart attacks at how much new bikes cost if you get them with a seat and wheels, which is really more useful than a lone frame. The seats were mostly built to hold one cheek of the average adult's bottom, too. What's that about? The day ended and I had such a nice time. The next day, I came home from church and on my back stoop sat a bike. A bike with wheels and handlebars and a seat that might just hold even my aged a... I couldn't believe it. How serendipitous! The very next day after we'd been looking and shopping! I called my friends and yelled into the phone, "Someone bought me a bike? Did you buy me a bike?"