When I was six years old, my family moved into a new home. My dad had a new job, and we were recovering from two years with no income. That Christmas morning, though, cuddling my longed-for doll, I had no sense of deprivation. Only this summer, looking back at photos of that time, did I remember the living room was barren of furniture. When I asked my mother what had happened to the furniture all those years before, she explained we didn't have any; they simply could not afford it. Looking back, I have no sense of lack, no memory of deprivation. That Christmas morning, the room was filled with love - love without cause, love without reason, love without end. That's the gift I still carry.

When I was six years old, my family moved into a new home. My dad had a new job, and we were recovering from two years with no income. That Christmas morning, though, cuddling my longed-for doll, I had no sense of deprivation. Only this summer, looking back at photos of that time, did I remember the living room was barren of furniture. When I asked my mother what had happened to the furniture all those years before, she explained we didn't have any; they simply could not afford it. Looking back, I have no sense of lack, no memory of deprivation. That Christmas morning, the room was filled with love - love without cause, love without reason, love without end. That's the gift I still carry.