It's The Thought That Counts

All kinds of thoughts can occur to me when I open a gift:

"How thoughtful!"

"That is so nice of her to think of me."

"I think I already have one of these."

"I think I told him I don't like these."

"What made him think I'd like this?"

"What was she thinking?!"

Among the gifts my husband and I received as wedding presents was a large, blue glass bowl from his Aunt Ellen. His artistic, eclectic Aunt Ellen. The bowl was, well, um, shall we say, unusual.

The actual depression of the bowl had a diameter of about eight inches and was about four inches deep. The top rim of the bowl was about four inches wide on two sides and three inches wide on the other two sides. (Think about making a bowl by pressing down through the center of a cookie sheet.) It might have been a reasonable (albeit large) salad bowl, but the bottom of the bowl was not flat. It looked like mountain ranges had uplifted from the bottom of the bowl. (You can see a picture of it here: http://www.go-star.com/antiquing/blenko.htm)

What was Aunt Ellen thinking?


The bowl was too big to fit in a cupboard. It was too fragile to put in a closet or under the bed. It was too big to set out as "decor," since our dining table did double duty as a desk. (We joked that it couldn't even be used as a bed pan because of the ridges in the bottom of the bowl.) In short, the bowl was useless. And to be honest, we thought it was ugly. So we did what newly-married college students do with a wedding gift they don't want: return it and buy something else.


Our quest to return The Blue Bowl (yes, we did name the bowl), was not an easy one. It seemed that none of the stores sold anything like The Blue Bowl. The reactions varied:


"No, we don't sell anything like that."


"Hmmm, I'm not sure what store that may have come from." (trying to appear helpful)

"You say you got this as a wedding gift?" (trying to hide a puzzled smile)


"Um, I've never seen anything like that here." (stiffling a giggle)


"What on earth is that?!" (peals of laughter)


After a few stores, the task of finding a place to return the bowl turned into a game. The more places we went to, the more incredulous looks and comments we received, the funnier the game. We laughed with the clerks as they tried to help us figure out which store we could try next.


So it was with smirks ready that we approached the clerk in the china department at Frederick & Nelsons. "Oh!" she gasped, "You want to return a Blenko Original?!"


"Well, yeah," I began. "It's pretty ug...," Stepping slightly in front of me, Brian stopped me with a more gracious response: "It doesn't really fit our decor." (Anything worth more than $20 didn't fit in with our decor.)


The atonished clerk finished the paperwork to return the bowl and we left with $35 (about $75 in today's money). "Not much for a Blenko Original," I remarked to Brian as we left the china department.


Then a funny thing happened. I didn't want to sell the bowl back to the store! We had so much fun trying to return the bowl that we actually enjoyed (in a twisted sort of way) owning the bowl. I wanted to run back and tell the clerk I'd changed my mind and wanted the bowl back. Suddenly I realized the bowl wasn't worthless.


As kids, we expectantly opened boxes adorned with bows and colored paper on Christmas and on our birthdays. Sometimes we were disappointed, like when my great aunt sent me slippers she had crocheted using pink, scratchy yarn. "It's the thought that counts," my dad would say. "Your aunt made these for you because she loves you." (To which my eight-year-old mind responded, "If she loved me she would know I hate pink!")


But I'm beginning to wonder what it really means when we say, "It's the thought that counts." Certainly Aunt Ellen had thought about whether we would appreciate and enjoy The Blue Bowl. The problem was what we thought. We were too busy thinking about what we wanted. The Blue Bowl had little value to us when we looked at it with our own expectations and desires.

We hear a lot about God giving each of us special gifts: an ear for music, a great singing voice, insightful teaching, an ability to be an encourager, etc. I fail to see the gifts God has given me because I'm too busy taking them "back to the store." I don't want them because they aren't exciting or fun or obvious or what I deem "useful."

God's not in the business of handing out gifts without thinking about the recipient. I'm convinced he thinks a lot about it. But gifts he gives aren't useful to us until we see the value of them. Until we think about them the way he thinks about them.

I think my dad was right. It is the thought that counts.

What's it like being beautiful?

Let's face it - we all have friends who are poised, elegant and incredibly good looking. No matter what day it is, where they are, or what time is, they always look like... well, like what you and I would love to look like on one day, let alone everyday. Their hair is always neatly styled. Their makeup is always fresh and neatly applied. Their bodies are toned, svelte and tanned. Their clothes are always stylish and well-fitted.

Not only that, but their houses are tidy and clean. You're certain "Home Beautiful" is showcasing their home in their next issue. The laundry is always done. The Christmas cards are addressed by early November and the Christmas gifts were purchased in July, most of them at bargain prices.

They always say the right thing at the right time. Their speech is graced with intelligence and graceful humor. Their demeanor never slips, even when no one is watching.

I feel ugly and awkward next to them. Sometimes it's all I can do to keep from asking them: "What's it like to beautiful?" "What's it like to have your life together?" "What's it like to be perfect?"

I wonder what they see when they look in the mirror. I want to be like them. Sometimes I want to be them.

Thankfully, God's blessed me with Katie. Katie (not her real name) is not thin. Her hair often looks like she's pulled it back just to keep it out of her face for a few minutes. She seldom wears makeup. I have yet to see her in designer jeans or a well-tailored suit.

Katie will the first to tell you that housekeeping is not one of her spiritual gifts. She's usually a bit late. She seems to thrive on chaos.

But everyone loves Katie. She laughs loud and often. She is passionate for her friends. She'll listen for hours when someone needs a shoulder to cry on. She never thinks ill of anyone, nor does she judge them. She'll share whatever she has with anyone who needs something.

Katie is comfortable with who she is. No matter where she is, she always makes others feel at home and loved. She makes us feel safe.

Katie leaves me wanting to ask her, "What's it like to be wonderful?"

Katie once told me comparisons are the poisons that breed discontent. I think she's right. It's not who we are or what we look like that makes us ugly. It's discontentment.

We're taught not to judge others. In some ways that's easy. What's hard is to stop judging ourselves. It's easy to be distracted by the things that seem so visible, but don't last or won't impact the legacy we'll leave. It's easy to want talents and abilities that leave people in awe.

I'm sure I'll never win a beauty contest or have my home photographed for a magazine. But I have gifts that God has given me, even if some of them don't seem glamorous to me. And I'll never learn to use them as long as I continue to make comparisons with the gifts he has given others.

The beauty of a gift is never known until it's used. That's beauty I can live with.

Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes all the way through.

But Mom, everybody else is doing it!

Remember when you were eight years old, whining to your parents that you should be allowed to do something because everybody else was doing it? Their response? The dreaded, "If everyone was jumping off a cliff, would you jump, too?" (To which the eight year old mind says, "Of course not! But I'm not asking about jumping off a cliff!!!")

So now that "everybody's" blogging, I thought I'd start a blog, too.

I hold no delusions that I am witty, clever, particularly profound, eminently famous or wildly popular. Perhaps someday someone somewhere will think my musings mildly interesting, but I'm not going to bank on it.

And Mom, I promise not to jump!