Not all gifts have immediate value. So much of gift giving is about instant gratification and satiation of fleeting desires. Real gifts aren’t as obvious.
While looking for something today I found a set of fountain pens my mom gave me years ago. I don’t remember exactly when she gave them to me but it was at least eight years ago. I kept them. Never used them. Until today.
I’ve started writing in a journal again. Each morning ten minutes on a timer. I’ve been protective of these minutes knowing they may be my only of the day. To get some words on the page. I’ve been using pen and paper instead of my phone, which I use out of convenience.
When I first started journaling again my thumb ached. I’m pretty sure I have arthritis from rowing and babies and life. So initially it hurt to write. But each day it’s gotten better. My thumb hurts less and less. Dare I say it’s getting stronger?
I have switched pens a couple times. I typically prefer ballpoint over Bic so when I found these pens today something clicked in my brain.
My mom knew I’d use them one day. It didn’t matter if it was today or eight plus years from the day she gave them to me. She knew they’d have value that didn’t need to be instant. She was patient and wise like that.
Like the books she’s given me – The Secret Garden, Anne of Green Gables, and others. I didn’t read them right away and some I haven’t gotten through yet. But when I do I understand the gift she was giving me. The beauty of a well told story. How it takes time to unfold and to hear.
It’s a comfort to know that her gifts are still relevant now so many years after her death. And these pens. It’s so obvious how they fit into my life now. Writing. Telling stories. Tools with a purpose now. I hold them in my hands and feel their power. I feel wonder and excitement. I feel her presence and foresight combined with the possibility of telling my tales to the world.
She had one of the pens engraved with my initials. She did this once with some luggage she bought me but in a fit of insanity she put the wrong initials on them. We laughed about that for weeks. I still laugh when I see that bag in my garage.
Pens. Memories. Story telling. Gifts abound. Value is evolving and not static. I’m so grateful. Perhaps something to think about this holiday season. It’s good to share with you again.
Now on to the storytelling.
