In the early years of my marriage and when my children were young, I couldn't bear the way my husband would clean away all the torn wrapping paper and discarded ribbons the minute we finished unwrapping our presents on Christmas.

It all seemed so final. I wanted to hold on to those fleeting joys of Christmas morning a little longer. But his neat instinct was too strong, and he had the garbage bag out the minute the last gift was opened.

In the aftermath of Christmas, there is so often that let-down feeling after weeks of carols and shopping, parties and festive meals.

Of course, we are celebrating the gift of Jesus to the world, God's gift to save us from our sins and offer us redemption and life everlasting. That should be enough. We shouldn't need all these earthly trappings to make it more meaningful, but somehow in typical human fashion we do.

Those wise men from the east came bearing gifts, and that was enough for us mortals to say, "Hey, what about me?" But there has to be more than greed involved here at the most wonderful time of the year.

So, I set about trying to figure out what gifts are really meaningful at Christmas.

A couple of years ago, my friend Jeannie's mother, Sara, got a goat for Christmas from her more imaginative granddaughter, Tracy. It was not a real goat, but a little plastic replica to represent a goat to feed a family in a starving African country far around the world.

Tracy donated the money in her grandmother's name, and I thought that was really wonderful. What a neat idea. That seemed really meaningful to me.

Pastor Jake talked in his sermon at my church this week about how we love seeing a look of happiness on the face of someone we give a gift to, and that is part of the true meaning of the season, giving to others.

When I polled my friends about their favorite gifts, they went back to their childhood, recalling Tiny Tears and Ginny dolls, and other much loved toys.

Jeannie said that what she remembered most was that she wanted a BB gun, but she didn't get one. She asked and asked, but she got a girl-appropriate toy piano instead.

Cissy actually got the BB gun. She still has it to this day. I guess my friends were more tomboyish than me, because I never even dreamed of a gun. I wanted dolls and doll clothes instead.

Like most boys of the late '50s, my husband loved his train set, his cowboy suit and his guns and holster.

When I think back to my favorite Christmas, I remember the year we came home from the hospital on Christmas Eve with our son, Nathan. My husband and I both wanted so badly to be home for the holiday.

Cradling my little newborn in my arms under our own Christmas tree was the best feeling in the world.

But when I really think about it, the gifts that I want so much are just things. They don't really mean that much. Pastor Jake is right: it is more blessed to give than to receive.

The gifts of family and peace and love, presents of caring and sharing and going out of our way to just be nice benefit the giver as much as the person who receives the kindness.

Many years ago when I was active in the Service League of Cherokee County, I took food and clothes to a woman and her children in the Canton housing project. We had a list of gifts for the children, warm clothing and toys, as well as groceries to fill their pantry.

I have always remembered that when she started unpacking the food, she found a carton of eggs and began to cry. That she could give her children a good breakfast on Christmas morning was a wonderful gift for her. It was a humbling experience that highlighted the need to reach out to others and how what seems like so little to us can mean so much to someone else.

Some people rush out the day after Christmas to hit the sales at the stores, stocking up on things for next year. I am not one of those. Instead, I find myself lying around on the sofa in front of an open fire, gazing out into the winter day, sorry that Christmas is over, but looking forward to the New Year.

And somehow, in the quiet of the moment, the real meaning of Christmas shines through, and I don't need the wrapping papers to remind me what is really important.

Rebecca Johnston is former editor of The Cherokee Tribune.