One of my favorite parts of Christmas is hearing from family and friends whom we only hear from at that time of year, and seeing all the beautiful Christmas cards that are out there.

Every year we receive a card and wonderful letter (composed on a typewriter) from one of our wonderful neighbors who always begins her annual letter with, “One of the best things about the holidays is the mail.”

I love that phrase, and I could not agree more.

That neighbor always creates her own card as well. She’s an artist, and thinks of a holiday picture she can paint and use for her cards. This past year she chose to paint a picture of her husband’s blue pickup, and painted a Christmas tree in the truck bed. Such handiwork to share, and a true labor of love that we were honored to receive.

That card is extra special, since he left us right after Christmas to meet Jesus.

All year long the bills and junk mail track us down like aardvarks at the IRS. And at birthday time there might be a few cards that find their way to our mailbox, which is exciting.

But there’s just something about Christmas time that makes the sending and receiving of greetings so special. As a writer, it’s one of my favorite activities of the season, even if it gobbles up a lot of time, just after we’ve gobbled up the Thanksgiving spread.

Seems like each year we receive just a few less cards than the year before. I always wonder if we should continue send them to people who don’t send them back. But on the other hand, it also makes me examine the reason why we send them in the first place.

We don’t send them so we can get them back from others; we send them because we want to say hello, that we love them, and to wish them a wonderful holiday. And we tend to revert back to the basic lesson all of our mothers taught us as we grew up, and even as we all became Santa Claus: it’s better to give than to receive. And so we send them.

For as much as I enjoy giving and receiving Christmas cards, the time they take sometimes makes me wonder if it’s worth it. But if you have received a Christmas card, you know you have made the cut, and that they deemed it worthy of the time to make it happen.

If you wrote down all the things you need to do just to get the Christmas cards out, we would all be running with arms outstretched for our coping medications. And yet, we return to that project like it’s springtime in San Juan Capistrano. At least if you’re me.

It’s quite a process for anyone who likes to provide the complete experience. First you examine the list of recipients and adjust any new addresses. Then you shop for (or design) the cards, and write the Christmas letter.

Then you make copies of the letter, fold the letter, sign and write a line or two on the cards, get up and change the radio to a different station because you’re so tired of the same 10 songs they play over and over; address the cards, place them in the envelopes, put a return address on them, seal them, choose and buy stamps, bring them home, change the radio station again, put the stamps on them, and finally — take them to the mailbox or the post office.

I think the Christmas card preparation process alone should be reason enough for my gluttony at the Thanksgiving table. I need all the stamina I can muster to get through all of that, let alone all the other tasks I’m charged with before Christmas Eve arrives.

My hand is a claw when I’m finished, but it’s my own personal labor of love.

The whole process can be compared to the love we have for others. We put so much into it, and sometimes we wonder why we do all the things we do for others when it might not seem like we’re getting much “return on our investment.”

But love is just that way — it’s always better given than received; and our world is a better place when we choose to give more love rather than receive (or take) it.

And yet, if no one ever gave love, who would be able to receive it?

If you receive a Christmas greeting card, you have received a piece of someone’s heart.

And the person who sent it is probably lying on the couch with an icepack to the forehead after all of that, wishing they could just go to San Juan Capistrano and be done with it.

Karen Schwaller writes from her grain and livestock farm near Milford, Iowa. She can be reached at kschwaller@evertek.net