I have always loved this time of year, but lately I've become intimated by all the homemade beautiful crafts people make. I am not crafty in the artsy-craftsy kind of way. I've been described as crafty as in sneaky and devious, and I practice the craft of writing, but not by any stretch of the imagination could I be called crafty. Let's just say I can't draw a straight line with a ruler. I still have the childhood scars from well-meaning adults trying to guess what my drawing was suppose to be; “Oh, Micki, what a lovely... beastie/tree/house thing. I've never seen those colors together before.” Forget the grade school science projects. I was in awe of those kids who could make a windmill out of a milk carton and some popsicle sticks. I always did my science project on clouds – a little glue and a cotton ball was about all that I could handle, and even then I had to explain it to the teacher.

I've spent most of my life trying to forget about my early craft disasters. There was a time when you had to deliberately seek out crafty people. You could always find them in craft shops or fabric stores, but if you just met one on the street you wouldn't know they were crafty unless the subject came up. Then the Martha phenomenon happened and crafty people started coming out of the woodwork. Woodwork that they themselves had sponge painted in lovely shades of contrasting colors that I wouldn't even know how to spell. Even their words have filtered into day-to-day vocabulary. I have been forced to find out what words like “decoupage” mean so I don't embarrass myself with a verbal miscue.

But in my heart of hearts I've always wanted to be artsy-craftsy. And I've tried. Oh how I've tried. I have a large box filled with half finished projects. I have Styrofoam forms and a glue gun. I have dried flowers and lace. I have wreaths and ribbons. I just don't have the knack. I was even un-invited from a charity craft function with a compassionate comment of, “Well, dear, we all have different gifts.”

Different gifts indeed. Well, like most wisdom, that little gem was casually given and left unheeded for years. It haunted me because I've been on an eternal quest to discover my gifts. I never thought I had any. The ones other people thought I had, I either didn't think I had or didn't think of them as gifts. Besides, even if they were gifts, I didn't want them, I wanted someone else’s. It's just like hair – if you have curly hair, you want straight hair; if you have straight hair you want curly hair. So what if I have a unique sense of humor and can write – I want to be able to create a doily.

I admit it was a selfish and childish way to feel, and I've finally come to not only accept the gifts I do have, but to be grateful for them, however small they may be. It is a gift to make people smile. It's not a flashy gift like being able to sing or paint, but it's my gift. The world needs all our gifts and since we can't be good at everything, we have to share. I believe that's why we need each other, or as I'm fond of saying, “That's why humans travel in packs.”

With the gift giving season upon us, I have this tremendous urge to make a gift for you. I could just throw something together with my trusty glue gun and tell you it's art, but I'm out of Band-Aids. As it is, you'll have to be happy with a gift from my heart. Even now after the above confessions, I wish I could give you this poem written out in beautiful calligraphy and presented on hand-made paper, pressed from plants I grew in my own garden, decoupaged onto a fancy plaque I cut out and stained myself, but, alas, all I have is words. I also wish you peace and love this season and may you be content with your own gifts.

Happy Holidays!

Winter Candles

Throughout all the centuries, for people of all kind
The mid-winter darkness has been a soul-searching time.
It's no wonder to me that this time of year
Became the time to spread good cheer

Gone is the brightness of long summer days
The colors of autumn have all faded away
The darkling time of year is here
When we seek a message that hope is near

Light is the message and the hope we desire
You can see it in families gathered around a fire
And the lights of the season, so welcoming and bright
All are symbols of victory over the winter-night

Hope can be seen in the darkness of night
Where the stars are God’s candles, holding on to the light,
Uniting us all in the brotherhood of man
There is, after all, only one clan