Surprise! It's the Simple Things That Give Meaning

This past Christmas something simple but profound happened to me. For the first time in over ten years, someone gave me a wrapped Christmas present. I've received books and Christmas cards in the mail from family and friends, and even bags of candy or other simple gifts from other prisoners, but it's been more than ten years since I've unwrapped a Christmas gift. It was a simple gift--a few pieces of candy and a granola bar--but the gesture meant the world to me. My friend who left the gift on my bunk didn't intend for the gift to have the impact it did, but I felt it's impact nonetheless. 

To be candid, the allure of Christmas and other family-centered holidays have lost their luster for me. I'm sick of three straight months of Christmas movies and commercials on TV. The excessive obsession with materialism has me disgusted with the holiday's loss of religious significance. But if I'm honest with myself, the real reason Christmas and other holidays have lost their appeal to me is because of the loneliness and isolation they make me feel. I miss celebrating holidays, birthdays, anything, with those I love. 

So, why did my friend's simple, wrapped gift have such an impact? Perhaps it was because of the normalcy (and surprise!) of the gesture. It took time for him to keep a candy box, fill it with goodies, and wrap the gift in colorful typing paper with a personalized message on the outside. In a place that is starved of normalcy in relationships, in conversation, in gestures of good will, something so simple can have such a profound impact. 

I remember years ago when my mom would occasionally sneak a personalized note into my lunch, and later when my now ex-wife would do the same. These simple acts of love brought a mid-day smile and left it there for the rest of the day. Following those examples, I sometimes did the same for my own children, sneaking in a quick note into their school lunches. I think I got as much joy as they did out of those notes. Those lessons haven't been lost on me. Today, I still look for opportunities to leave a smile on someone's face, writing a few words of encouragement for them to look at with unexpected pleasure. 

It's the small things that make a difference in people's lives. I can't do anything about another prisoner's sentence, their sense of loss and isolation, or their feelings of insignificance. But I can let them know they matter to me. I can turn a simple gesture into a wave of encouragement they can ride for weeks. Prison restricts me from doing a lot of things I'd like to do, things I enjoy. It might keep me from celebrating special days or seasons with people I love, but it doesn't keep me from reminding others that they have value and worth--even other prisoners who society might deem unworthy and worthless