My cousin gave me a handmade card for one of my childhood birthdays. It wasn’t just any handmade card: it was made on thick, glossy paper, complete with baubles and expensive, elegant stickers. If I remember correctly, that was her only gift to me that year. But that didn’t matter: I treasured the card, often tracing its outlines and admiring the glorious glossiness of the paper in the following months.

Perhaps I was an odd child. But I don’t believe I was unique in relishing the card’s nature: handmade, which undoubtedly took my cousin a good deal of time and effort. Handmade gifts, though unpopular in today’s ubiquitous consumerism, have long been relished for what they are: tokens of love and affection.

It’s true that handmade gifts can be frugal options when it comes to birthdays and Christmas. A few yards of fabric are often much cheaper than the factory-made or trendiest version of the amateur’s sewing project. Whittling a figure, etching a glass, painting a scene – all these acts of craftsmanship can be cheaper than buying their retail equivalents.

But I won’t dwell too much on frugality, for a handmade gift is much more than a mere attempt at cost savings. It is also remarkable in the affection that it can show, for in making and giving a handmade gift, the giver gives himself away.

This is true of any gift. Whenever we give someone something, even something as small as “a cup of cold water,” we are giving of ourselves. But when a gift is taxing upon our time and our energy, we are particularly giving of ourselves. Though the result may not always be appreciated or even beautiful, such self-giving is a worthy and noble thing to pursue.

Since my marriage, I have attempted to sew or make a number of the Christmas, birthday, and wedding gifts my husband and I have given. I have had failures. Often, I spend much, much more time on a handmade gift than I initially expect. For instance, I often sew a set of placemats for wedding gifts. The first time I did so, I stayed up for several hours on several weeknights simply to make four elementary placemats.

In such work there is a sort of desperation. But I have felt fulfillment and satisfaction that far outweighs that desperation once the handmade gift is completed and presented. As April Jaure wrote for “Hearth and Field” regarding her own experience making gifts:

For Christmas and birthdays, I spent hours producing homemade gifts. I sewed pillows and aprons, crafted hand-bound journals, wrapped beeswax candles, and baked loaves of chocolate-chip banana bread. Rather than the mundane drudgery that I had expected, learning to create so many things with my own two hands cultivated something deep inside me, and a developing satisfaction began to sprout.

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When I was able to create something for the benefit of people I love, it seemed like a neglected, yet vital seed within me was finally germinating and rising from its long dormition.

For myself, this “developing satisfaction” feels similar to the wonder that comes when receiving a homemade gift. Just as the receiver thinks or says, “Wow, you made this for me?” so the giver’s action declares a sort of marvelous, affectionate, “Yes!” in the creation and giving of a gift.

Feel like you’re not creative enough to give a handmade gift? Then consider that even something as small as a hand-painted card or a hand-woven key chain may be a great encouragement and wonder to a family member or friend. The small but lovingly made gift is a symbol of love. As the biblical prophet Zechariah asks, “For who hath despised the day of small things?”

In any gift-making or act that causes us to give ourselves away, we are ultimately reflecting the self-giving love of God in Christ Jesus. He did not “despise the day of small things,” but was content to become very small, weak, and poor so that we might be reconciled to Him, that we “through his poverty might be rich.”

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This article was made possible by The Fred & Rheta Skelton Center for Cultural Renewal. 

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