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WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT Wednesday
#1 · December 12, 2006, 12:01 pm
Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>
"WHAT CHRISTMAS IS ALL ABOUT"
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered
their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for
those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all
outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life
comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling 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 Pa wanted a
little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front
of the fireplace and waited for Pa 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 Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, 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, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa 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, now Pa 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 Pa 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 cap, coat, and mittens. Ma 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.
Pa 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, Pa 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.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa 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. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "You
been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow 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," Pa 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 wood-
shed 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, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to
the smoke house and Pa 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 the Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I
tried to think through what Pa 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 Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was
he doing any of this? The 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?"
The Widow Jensen opened the door to 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. The Widow Jensen fumbled with a
match and finally lit the lamp.
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack
of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa 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 Pa like she wanted to say something, but it
wouldn't come out. "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said.
He 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 Pa handed them each a piece of candy and the
Widow 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." In spite of myself, the lump returned
to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.
I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after the
Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I
started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma
and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa 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 the Widow Jensen's face again when we stood
up to leave. Pa 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 Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa 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.
Widow 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 ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you
to know something. Your ma and me 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 ma
and me were real 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 for shoes and a little candy for those
children. I hope you understand." I understood, and my eyes became
wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa
had done it.
Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given
me a lot more. He had given me the look on the Widow Jensen's face
and the 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 Pa that night. Pa had given me
much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas
of my life.
their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for
those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all
outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life
comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling 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 Pa wanted a
little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front
of the fireplace and waited for Pa 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 Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, 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, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa 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, now Pa 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 Pa 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 cap, coat, and mittens. Ma 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.
Pa 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, Pa 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.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa 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. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" "You
been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow 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," Pa 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 wood-
shed 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, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to
the smoke house and Pa 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 the Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I
tried to think through what Pa 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 Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was
he doing any of this? The 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?"
The Widow Jensen opened the door to 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. The Widow Jensen fumbled with a
match and finally lit the lamp.
"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack
of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa 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 Pa like she wanted to say something, but it
wouldn't come out. "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said.
He 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 Pa handed them each a piece of candy and the
Widow 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." In spite of myself, the lump returned
to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.
I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after the
Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I
started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma
and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa 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 the Widow Jensen's face again when we stood
up to leave. Pa 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 Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa 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.
Widow 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 ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you
to know something. Your ma and me 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 ma
and me were real 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 for shoes and a little candy for those
children. I hope you understand." I understood, and my eyes became
wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa
had done it.
Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given
me a lot more. He had given me the look on the Widow Jensen's face
and the 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 Pa that night. Pa had given me
much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas
of my life.
"Santa's Secret Wish"
On Christmas Eve, a young boy with light in his eyesLooked deep into Santa's, to Santa's surprise and said as he sat on Santa's broad knee,"I want your secret. Tell it to me. "He leaned up and whispered in Santa's good ear "How do you do it, year after year?" "I want to know how, as you travel about, giving gifts here and there, you never run out. How is it, Dear Santa, that in your pack of toys you have plenty for all of the world's girls and boys?Stays so full, never empties, as you make your way around the whole world, the reindeer pulling your sleigh from rooftop to rooftop, to homes large and small, from nation to nation, reaching them all?
"And Santa smiled kindly and said to the boy, "Don't ask me hard questions. Don't you want a toy? "But the child shook his head, and Santa could see that he needed the answer. "Now listen to me, "He told that small boy with the light in his eyes, "my secret will make you sadder and wise. "The truth is that my sack is magic. Inside it holds millions of toys for my Christmas eve ride. But although I do visit each girl and each boy I don't always leave them a gaily wrapped toy. Some homes are hungry, some homes are sad, some homes are desperate, some homes are bad. Some homes are broken, and the children there grieve. Those homes I visit, but what should I leave? "My sleigh is filled with the happiest stuff, but for homes where despair lives toys aren't enough. So I tiptoe in, kiss each girl and boy, and I pray with them that they'll be given the joy of the spirit of Christmas, the spirit that lives in the heart of the dear child who gets not, but gives."If only God hears me and answers my prayer, when I visit next year, what I will find there are homes filled with peace, and with giving, and love and boys and girls gifted with light from above. It's a very hard task, my smart little brother, to give toys to some, and to give prayers to others. But the prayers are the best gifts, the best gifts indeed, for God has a way of meeting each need. "That's part of the answer. The rest, my dear youth, is that my sack is magic. And that is the truth. In my sack I carry on Christmas eve day more love than a Santa could ever give away. The sack never empties of love, or of joys `cause inside it are prayers, and hope. Not just toys. The more that I give, the fuller it seems, because giving is my way of fulfilling dreams. "And do you know something? You've got a sack, too.It's as magic as mine and it's inside of you.It never gets empty, it's full from the start. It's the center of lights, and love. It's your heart.And if on this Christmas you want to help me, don't be so concerned with the gifts 'neath your tree. Open that sack called your heart, and share your joy, your friendship, your wealth, your care.
"The light in the small boy's eyes was glowing. "Thanks for your secret. I've got to be going."
"Wait, little boy," Said Santa, "don't go. Will you share? Will you help? Will you use what you know?
"And just for a moment the small boy stood still, touched his heart with his small hand and whispered, "I will."
Have a Blessed Day
Dave and Barbara
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