Our Christmas tree is in our front room with the big window facing the road. Old houses often have, what in the present era of “open concept,” can seem like quirky floor plans. The smaller of the two living-area spaces, we refer to it as “the India room” because it serves as our offices for the work Randy and I do for Vision India – he the director in the USA and I the editor of the monthly newsletter. The décor reflects India – a Bombay chest, photos and souvenirs from our trips, and an elegant sari – a gift from Jacqui, the wife of the Indian director, Tarun – draped over the velvet chaise. 

As I entered the India room this morning to write this blog, I gazed at our lovely Christmas tree and realized there are only a few wrapped gifts beneath it – and Christmas is only three days away. I remember when it was important to me to have oodles and oodles of beautifully wrapped gifts stacked all around the tree. Through the years, my philosophy of gift giving has matured; significance over sum. 

Several weeks ago on this site, I mentioned that my Christmas list this year included a secret! My heart’s desire was to give meaningful gifts that would be enjoyed and remembered; gifts that wouldn’t be tossed aside and forgotten by New Year’s. When the grandkid count stood at only three (or was it four?), we built a wooden play set in our backyard for Christmas one year. It has stood the test of time and this past summer we gave it an update with a new coat of stain and some colorful new swings and monkey bars. Through the years, all of the grandkids have spent hours swinging, climbing, sliding and hanging upside down, much to the delight of their Grammy who considers this one of those special gifts. 

As the grandkids began to arrive in batches and were quickly outgrowing our designated playroom upstairs – I began toying with the idea of purchasing a playhouse for the younger ones. I shared my yearning with Randy. It was clear he did not share my vision. “They will just tear it up,” was his response.

I reminded him about the playhouse my mother’s brother, Uncle Lenny (short for Linnaeus) had built for my four sisters and me when I was in first grade. I recalled playing “house” with my baby dolls in that simple structure, preparing for the day I would be a homemaker. I theorized that the reason he still has freshly ironed shirts to wear to work every day was that I practiced on my child size ironing board and iron in that very playhouse. He was not impressed. I tried to evoke memories of our own kids playing with their North Carolina cousins in that same house during our visits home when we lived in Oklahoma and Missouri and New York. He wasn’t moved. 

“Well, where is it now?” he asked. I admitted I had no idea, but since it’s gone, in my way of thinking, it needed to be replaced for the new generation. Try as I may, I just could not convince Randy that a playhouse should be the next addition to Grammy and Papa’s backyard park. Last Christmas, I didn’t even bring up the subject. We bought gifts for the children, but my guess is that neither they nor we could tell you now what those gifts were. 

Last winter, I invited a cousin to stop by after a funeral. This past summer, I reconnected with a childhood friend and invited her to come over to meet the grandkids. Both had been frequent guests at my childhood home. As we reminisced, I was pleasantly surprised that each of them had vivid memories of the playhouse Uncle Lenny had built for us. In fact, both recalled it as a favorite place to play. I considered this a sign that a playhouse for the grandkids was a good idea that I should once again pursue.  

The next time I drove by the local company that sells storage buildings and playhouses, a lime-green model with an aluminum roof was on display. I drove by, made a U-turn and pulled into the parking lot. The moment I opened the door and walked into that playhouse, I was smitten. Just inside to the right, a ladder led to a loft over the front porch. There were four operable windows and plenty of space for the ten youngest grandkids – ranging in age from one to six years old – to set up housekeeping. The salesman assured me I could custom order white siding and a blue roof to match our house as well as rails on the front porch. He offered to throw in flower boxes beneath the two front windows. Oh, yes, and a Dutch door. I walked out with a order proposal that was good for a month. Now, I just had to convince Randy. After his favorite dinner, I tread softly. No need for a big stick. He was ready. Timing is everything.

A few days later I placed the order and waited excitedly. I was giddy with anticipation. We decided to tell no one else in the family, less the secret escape. The house would be delivered and set up a few days before Christmas. I considered several plans of action as to how to gather the ten grandchildren – for whom this was to be their only Christmas present from Grammy and Papa this year – over to the house so we could have a great reveal. 

Then I got the phone call. There was an issue with delivery and we would have to receive it in two days or wait until after Christmas. Somehow, the plans all came together. Truth to tell, I was sort of glad to get the house early. Several times I had almost blurted out the surprise; and I could hardly contain my excitement. 

Randy took the afternoon off on delivery day. All the moms had been advised that a surprise was coming and kept their kids inside and away from the windows. Some of the older grandkids were at my house for home-school classes when the truck turned in the driveway. Their response was almost as exuberant as the one I was hoping for from the little kids.

All agreed, it was like a miniature version of Grammy’s house. Hurriedly, they helped me prepare the house. We swept out the sawdust, placed the remnant of carpet that had been stored in my attic in the loft (perfect fit), moved in a few pieces of “little” furniture, cut some cedar to lay in the window boxes and moved a child-size rocker from my front porch to the front porch of the playhouse. A small artificial Christmas tree topped with an angel went in one corner, and a used but in-good-condition shaggy rug (washable, of course) was placed in the center of the floor.  

The older grandkids and Papa and I held hands to block the view.

“Are you ready?” one of the moms called out from the front of the house where they had gathered the little ones.

“Ready!” we acknowledged. I was so ready!

As the kids ran around the corner of our house, we all stepped away, providing the first view of the adorable little cottage. 

The children gazed in amazement and curious grins broke into wide-eyed smiles as we sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and announced this was their Christmas gift – a house of their very own. 

Slowly at first, then with more fervor, they removed their shoes on the porch and entered the child-sized abode. The ladder was an immediate draw; almost all of them scooted up at once. Although a bit crowded, all ten managed to fit in the loft. 

Most of them climbed down after a few minutes and looked around with interest, checking out the kitchen area, the basket of books, the Christmas tree in the corner. Two of them looked as if they might shed tears (of happiness). They began setting up housekeeping at once.

About thirty minutes later, Ira (6) took his four-year old brother Kylo’s hand and led him out onto the porch and then to the swing set, just a few feet away. “This is my son and I’m taking him to the park for a little while,” he informed us. 

I sneaked around back and peeked in the window to watch the kids play. Sophia spied me and walked over as if she was going to speak. Instead she just flashed a big, heartwarming smile, then went back to organizing the kitchen. 

Randy and I went inside to eat dinner. A while later the doorbell rang. I opened the door to a bunch of delighted kids beaming bright smiles, who had just come to thank us again for their gift. We were met with an outpouring of “thank yous,” hugs and kisses.

As delighted as they appeared, I felt they could not be as elated as I was, knowing that this would be a gift they would long enjoy and always remember. My heart overflowed with joy.

Acts 20:35 reads, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

Doesn’t the title “caregiver” say it all? When we give care – whether it be the meeting of daily physical and emotional needs of our elderly or ailing loved ones – or giving a special gift to those we love – we receive a blessing even greater than that experienced by the receiver. 

Giving out of love warms the heart, brings joy to our lives and blessings from our Heavenly Father. 

This Christmas, embrace your role as caregiver. Know that it is indeed more blessed to give than to receive.

Merry Christmas !