Tag Archives: Christmas

Christmas Is For Giving

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Author Unknown

It was Christmas Eve 1942. I was fifteen years old and felt like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the rifle that I’d wanted for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Daddy wanted a little extra time so we could read the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Daddy to get down the old Bible.

I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to read the Scriptures, but Daddy didn’t get the Bible and instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn’t figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn’t worry about it long though as I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.

Soon he came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. “Come on, Matt,” he said. “Bundle up good, it’s cold out tonight.” I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas, but now he was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.

We’d already done all the chores, and I couldn’t think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew he was not very patient at one dragging one’s feet when he’d told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on, and got my coat.

Mommy gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn’t know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.

Daddy was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn’t happy. When I was on, Daddy pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed.

“I think we’ll put on the high sideboards,” he said. “Here, help me.” The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

Then Daddy went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood – the wood I’d spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally, I said something. I asked, “what are you doing?” You been by the Widow Jensen’s lately?” he asked.

Mrs.Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I’d been by, but so what?

Yeah,” I said, “Why?”

“I rode by just today,” he said. “Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They’re out of wood, Matt.” That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, he called a halt to our loading then we went to the smokehouse and he took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand.

“What’s in the little sack?” I asked. Shoes, they’re out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn’t be Christmas without a little candy.”

We rode the two miles to Mrs.Jensen’s pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Daddy was doing. We didn’t have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn’t have any money, so why was he buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn’t have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, “Who is it?” “Lucas Miles, Ma’am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?”

Mrs.Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Mrs.Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

“We brought you a few things, Ma’am,” Daddy said and set down the sack of flour as I put the meat on the table. Then he handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children – sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.

I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at my Daddy like she wanted to say something, but it just wouldn’t come out.

“We brought a load of wood too, Ma’am,” he said. Then turned to me and said, “Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let’s get that fire up to size and heat this place up.”

I wasn’t the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind, I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn’t speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I’d never known before filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone’s spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Daddy handed them each a piece of candy and Mrs.Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn’t crossed her face for a long time.

She finally turned to us. “God bless you,” she said. “I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us.”

Despite myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I’d never thought of my Daddy in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Daddy had never walked the earth.

I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Mommy and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought about it.

Daddy insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen’s face again when we stood up to leave. My Daddy took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn’t want us to go. I could see that they missed their Daddy and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door, he turned to Widow Jensen and said, “The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals.

We’ll be by to get you about eleven. It’ll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn’t been little for quite a spell.”

I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.

Mrs.Jensen nodded and said, “Thank you, Brother Miles. I don’t have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will.”

Out on the sled, I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn’t even notice the cold. When we had gone a way, Daddy turned to me and said, “Matt, I want you to know something. Your Mother and I have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn’t have quite enough.

Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your Mom and I were really excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way, I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money on shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand.”

I understood totally, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood completely, and I was so glad Daddy had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities.

He had given me a lot more for Christmas. He had given me the look on Mrs. Jensen’s face and the big radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, Whenever I saw any of the Jensens or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside my Daddy that night.

He had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

My Tumbleweed Christmas Tree – A True Story

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By Guest Author Christine Holm

As I was growing up my family moved constantly. And there were times that all of our worldly goods had to fit into the back of a faded red, Ford station wagon with no reverse gear. And I too had to fit into the back of that old station wagon…which often served as my bedroom. My parents were missionaries to the Navajo and Apache Indians and sometimes we lived like gypsies and that became my unusual/dysfunctional normal.

Living on an Indian reservation, there were many times I didn’t attend school at all, and by the time I did graduate from high school I had attended fifteen different schools in ten years. (But that challenge is another whole story in itself.) So by the time I reached twenty years old, I had moved forty-three times across the United States and was working a full-time job plus two part-time jobs, all at the same time.

I was the oldest of three girls each born seven years apart. I grew up fast and always took on a lot of adult worries and bore a lot of responsibilities from a young age. And any money I earned always went to help out our family to put food on the table and pay bills.

I will never forget one particularly lean Christmas when I was about the age of eleven. And as usual, my family was totally unprepared. It was only a week before Christmas and I began to fret that my little four-year-old sister, Cindy, was not going to have a Christmas at all. And I was not going to let that happen.

So I found some old wrapping paper and put my hairbrush in it to give to Cindy…who had beautiful long, thick hair. Then I also wrapped up one of my old Barbie dolls that I didn’t play with anymore to give to her as her Christmas presents. I wanted to make sure Cindy would have something to unwrap for Christmas day.

My plan was working beautifully until the next day when my mother went searching for the hairbrush and couldn’t find it anywhere and she asked me to help her look for it. So, I had to confess what I’d done and I began to cry as I handed my mom Cindy’s Christmas package to unwrap with the hairbrush in it.

I will never forget the look on my mom’s face when she opened up that package and held up the hairbrush looking at me confused. Was she angry? Would she punish me? And through my tears I said…”I just wanted Cindy to have a Christmas.”

My mom never said a word as she stood there. Then she threw the hairbrush down and stormed out of the house slamming the back door behind her. I watched her out the kitchen window as she walked far out into the desert. I thought for sure she had completely lost her mind and I wondered: what was I going to do?

I watched her as she kicked at the dirt and finally stood there motionless, staring up at the sky for a long time. I felt scared as I thought…”She’s gone crazy.” Then she started wandering around in the desert until she picked up the biggest tumbleweed she could find and headed back towards the house dragging it behind her.

Mom was puffing and red-faced by the time she came through the door…which I held open waiting for her. Now I was sure she had lost her mind. “What’s next?” I thought as I held my breath.

Mom said “Chris we are gonna have a Christmas. Now go find some rope and I’m gonna go find a string of lights.” Mom turned on the radio playing Christmas music while we wound that tumbleweed with the string of white lights. Then we hung it from our ceiling like a chandelier. We acted silly and giggled and danced and Cindy squealed with delight as we created our tumbleweed Christmas tree. It was beautiful as it hung there and sparkled and swayed with the slightest breeze.

I was so proud of our tumbleweed Christmas tree that I couldn’t wait to show it to my friends. Pretty soon people who lived near us came knocking on our door bringing us Christmas treats asking to see our tree. And they liked our unusual tree so well that some of them even copied our mom’s idea and created their own tumbleweed Christmas trees, hanging them in their yards and houses.

It seems my mom had started a fad. But my mom always was the most creative and resourceful person I ever knew. She could turn nothing into something and make everything fun. She taught us, girls, to laugh at adversity and to always laugh at ourselves the hardest, and that laughter would somehow diminish our problems. I learned that laughing in the face of fear and adversity could give us back our power and our perspective. And everything changes and passes with time.

That Christmas morning my mom wrapped up the hairbrush again and along with my Barbie doll… Cindy was excited to unwrap them. And then my mom surprised me and handed me a small wrapped present too. In it was my grandmother’s Christmas tree pin that she used to wear on her coat. My mother also wore that brightly decorated pin and now it was mine.

Both women are in heaven now but I still wear that Christmas tree pin gratefully and humbly today. And one day I will pass that pin along as well. But the love and the memories that pin represents will never die.

On our tumbleweed Christmas, my mom popped popcorn and we munched on it as she read to Cindy and me about the birth of Jesus from the Gospel of Luke. Then a knock came on the door and when we opened it no one was there, but a box was sitting on the porch. We brought it in and it contained eggs, bread, milk, oranges, colorful, hard Christmas candy, and a small ham. And that became our Christmas dinner.

My mom overcame childhood abuse and many hardships, and she chose to forgive the unforgivable. And in doing so she turned her misfortunes into strengths and became kinder and wiser because of it. She rejected all forms of victimhood and self-pity. And she chose to be happy every day and to love instead of hate, or spend her life seeking vengeance.

I’m grateful my mom showed me, by her own example, how to let love overcome hatred. She was bold and fearless because she knew she had already survived her worst nightmares.

My mom taught me how to let my faith become bigger than my fear and to keep looking up for my salvation. I learned that the joy of the Lord is my strength. And I learned that I can do all things through Christ Jesus who strengthens me if I remember to have faith and to call upon Him for help. And then God gets the glory…not us.

I have been blessed more than I deserve in my life. I have had many amazing Christmases since my humble, tumbleweed Christmas, and I am grateful for every one of them. But none of them are as memorable, or taught me as much, as my mom did that tumbleweed Christmas long ago.

I still enjoy giving gifts more than receiving them, and I know that the gift of love and those around me is priceless, and that is the greatest gift of all; one that I carry with me all year long.

Whether your Christmas is elaborate or simple this year, I pray it somehow remains gentle and sweet. And I pray the true meaning of Christmas burns brightly in your heart this season.

And I pray that despite any disappointments you may have in this world, those troubles fade away as you reflect upon God’s greatest gift to us: His love and faithfulness.

And I hope you think about that first quiet Christmas day when Jesus was born…a glorious King who came to save us… wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a humble manger.

I wish you LOVE, PEACE & JOY & A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS.

By Guest Author Christine Holm