"People often ask me about Christmas in prison. Invariably they want to know what food we will eat and what gifts we are allowed to receive. After a moment's hesitation, I tell them, all things considered, it's pretty nice and leave it at that. Truthfully, however, there's more to it.

Since my first Christmas in prison in 1986, I am always astonished by the kindness of people at Christmastime. Churches perform wonderful music, we receive goodie bags stuffed with personal hygiene items donated by the community, and the institution makes a significant effort to conjure up holiday meals. Even more wonderful, family members go to inconvenient lengths to visit or communicate. Nonetheless, in the brilliance of Christmas lights, the bars extend long shadows.

This year I've finally managed to define the shadow of my discontent. For a long time I have wanted to donate blood but, as an inmate, I cannot. The FDA regulations state that anyone who has been in jail for more than 72 hours is ineligible to donate blood for one year after their release. I don't like the regulation, but I understand the reasoning behind it.

While chewing on this regulation and ways to fight it so long-term prisoners who are medically cleared could be donors, I realized my deeper yearning to give. To give freely. Joyfully. Spontaneously. Generously.

In prison, for very sound security reasons, it's illegal to give gifts to another inmate. Of course, we do. We make little craft items, share treats, and elaborately plot strategies to surprise people with presents. However, it is all but impossible to give wrapped presents or stockings or thoughtful, loving gifts to everyone in my unit.

We have all spent time with loved ones when they have said, 'I would love that book or CD!' or 'Isn't that just the best kitchen gadget or tool?' or 'Those earrings would be perfect....' We make a mental note, come back to purchase the item, and watch with delight and pleasure when the person's eyes round with wonder that we remembered and went to such trouble to give them their heart's true desire. In prison, I am frustrated because I am limited to doodads and gestures. I am tired of thoughts that count. I want to act.

The punishment of my incarceration is never more effective, nor brightly lit, than at Christmas, because my giving is shackled. So be sure to celebrate your ability to give. It is a privilege of freedom." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, December 11, 2003).

Elizabeth Haysom is presently incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, Virginia. She is serving a 90 year sentence as an accessory to the murder of her parents in 1985. This column was first printed as part of a series, under the general heading 'Glimpses from Inside.'