3 Gifts
Stories are the way our society chooses to communicate messages to one another. We use stories to persuade. We use stories to criticize. We use stories to romanticize. I would like to share with you 3 simple stories today. (WARNING… this is a little long)
Story 1
He was a young boy, 9 or 10. This boy had everything; a bike, good friends, a nice ball glove and even a paper route. Life could not really be better. He led a carefree life of many boyhood adventures including building cave forts in the side of the weed-covered gully not far from his home.
Christmas approached and with every passing day the wish-list got longer; at the top… his own computer. With a computer he could play games, write notes, and even do some homework (the last part thrown in to make it seem practical).
The days grew colder and nights longer as December 25th crept near. On Christmas morning, before the sun had lumbered over the high eastern mountains the boy stood in awe of the ginormous stash of gifts lying around the tree for him and his siblings. Near the right side lay the most beautiful sight he had ever seen… A Texas Instruments 99a computer… his name neatly penned on a card taped to the top of the box.
“Holy cow!! I got what I always wanted”.
Another hour passed as brothers and sister clamored and squealed as gift after gift brought amazement and giddy joy… but nothing was better than 16 kilobytes of raw computing power that lay on the couch with HIS name on it. Then the devastating news. Dad cleared his throat and said;
“I see that you are enjoying a great Christmas morning. It makes me happy to know that you are enjoying your gifts. But there are some in the area that do not have what you have. In fact, we know of a family that has nothing this Christmas. That is why I need to tell you something.”
The children waited with concern and dismay as their father spoke.
“Your mother and I have decided that we would help this family. So one of your gifts will be given to this family so that they can enjoy this morning as well.”
“NO!!! I am not giving up my computer. NO… NO… NO!!!!” the boy said as tears spilled down his cheeks. How cruel could the world be to give the best gift in the entire whole world and then to have it snatched to give to some poor kid that probably doesn’t even have a TV to connect it to! Before his parents could explain, he stormed to his room. The once best Christmas morning was now the worst day in history.
Inside the brooding heart of a 9 year old boy, want and greed had taken root. A Christmas to always remember.
Story 2
Perhaps the darkest days of life are the clearest. 1985 was bitter cold both inside and out. A young family had lost nearly everything when the dad was let go from his job the previous June. Almost 6 months had passed without employment and the $5.00/hour the mom had been making was no longer coming in. The serious surgery would take 12 weeks for her to heal enough to return to work. Times were bad. The cupboards were ischemic. The car needed repairs. Clothes for the 5 children were becoming smaller (or the kids taller). Fortunately they didn’t really know it. Like most kids, they were oblivious to financial pressures. They had each other. They had a dog. What else does a kids need?
Christmas brought depression and anxiety to the parents of that little family. There would be very little for presents. Less for a large family meal.
The young children huddled around the living room of their small rented home on Christmas Eve. They listened politely as their father read from the Bible about the babe wrapped in tattered cloth. They watched the near impossible as their hulking father cried. With less disruption and fighting than normal the 5 kids made their way to bed.
A knock at the door.
Scattered foot clomping followed they young parents as they went to the door to see who could be there. The door opened. A nearly empty stoop greeted them.
There, on the mat, was a large box. Wrapped gifts, an envelope, food, and the largest turkey ever grown lay in the precious package at their feet. No note… No witnesses.
Tears soaked the cheeks of that sweet young mother as God (or his mortal angels) answered her heart rendering prayers.
Story 3
The desert is not a warm place. At least in December it’s not. The 31 year old Captain gazed at the calendar. In just 15 days, a beautiful gray airplane would take him home. No gifts were sent from home that Christmas… there was no need. He could open them when he got home with his family.
He stared at a small framed picture on the desk. A beautiful wife, two lovely children (with another on the way) stared back… they same way they had for 120 days so far. Today had not been so bad. The constant mortar attacks of the previous day were refreshingly quiet and the medical clinic was only filled with the sounds of Bing Crosby, Judy Garland, and Clint Black singing Christmas songs. The bloodiest Month of the war was over. The marines had secured Fallujah and the hospital and clinic were both finally quiet.
Long faces abounded among the medics of the 332nd Aeromedical Squadron. Balad Air Base Iraq was not their idea of Christmas traditions.
At about 1400 the commander called all the medics to the front lobby.
“We are the only family we have right now.” Shaft said (Shaft was his call sign as a flight surgeon. Call signs are always unique and characteristic of the person. He was a Urologist.)
“We all miss our families…”
The captain thought to himself “there is no way possible you miss your families as much as I do”. Just a few weeks before he received an e-mail telling the story of his little girl who had missed her daddy so much that she was going to go get him and bring him home. The spunky five year old ventured out across an abandon pasture at the bottom of the mountain to hike over and retrieve her absent father. His heart was about to burst. In just 12 hours his kids would wake up at grandma’s house and have their first Christmas without their dad.
“You alright?” Doc Ridge asked. As he kicked the boot of the captain zoning off into space. Background voices were audible but not discernible.
“Ya… just thinking about the kids” Tears were filling his eyes.
“Well… Thanks for what you do here. Merry Christmas”. The well respected physician handed the depressed Airman a cylindrical package. Poorly wrapped and taped with duct instead of scotch tape the package looked like it had traveled all the way from Kuwait by camel.
A small generic can of cashew nuts sat in the lap of the 2 day old desert uniform. A gift of thoughtfulness from perhaps the only person within 8000 miles that mattered to Cap (as he was nicknamed). The ache was filled. Filled by the kindness of another lonely airmen half a world away from his family too.
——-
Three Christmas that have made me the man I am today.
I will never forget the selfish disappointment that welled up inside when I was 9 or 10 years old. I could not play that stupid computer for weeks. A lesson reaffirmed when I hear stories on the last Friday of November about a store clerk being trampled by sale-crazed mobs.
The tears streaming down my beautiful mothers face as she humbly accepted someone else’s gift of love in her time of need will be etched in my mind forever.
And perhaps the most poignant memory of Christmas… when a small can of cashews meant more to me than every gift but one. That Christmas I walked the desert dust mere miles from the ground where Christ ministered, and thanked my God for a friend who thought of me before himself.
May we take this holiday time to look around… seek out those that need our love and kindness… listen to our hearts. Give.
Kelly House
Mark J Kittleson
Margaret Sullivan
Maria Alexandrova
jodyearly
Shanell L. McGoy
Mainul Mustafa
M. Helen Hogue
Yuba
Okony K. Cham
Kamrun Mustafa
This time of year is filled with so much commotion that I challenge each of us to take time and find within ourselves what is important. It may be a small cashew can, a loved one, a neighbor in need, or a resolve within yourself to a little better. Let’s reach outside of ourselves and give.
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These are great stories. Each has a useful message.
I am reminded by your story of your family accepting gifts during hard times of a family my wife, then a teacher of Grade 5 students, and I visited during the holidays of December 1969. Some of her students skipped school on the day the holiday gift exchange was being held. My wife provided gifts in the names of the missing students and delivered gifts to the homes of those who were absent.
When we arrived at the one family shelter, we were warmly received by the entire family. Their shelter reminded me of a chicken coop on a share cropper farm on which my family had resided in 1949-1953. It had cardboard walls and ceiling attached to flimsy studs and tarpaper covered the exterior to block the wind, rain and snow. There was a bif steel drum being used as a stove in the center of this firetrap. We recognized immediately that the boy we had come to visit and his siblings had skipped school because they could not afford the small cost of gifts for their classmates. Neither of their parents, nor their grandparents were employed.
We provided a gift for each member of this family and alerted ministers, charity leaders and local service clubs of their light. I believe this was the poorest family I ever met in the USA. My family was poor when we lived on share cropper farms, but we had plenty of food, clothing and sturdy shelters. We raised the food, preserving much of it for winter months. Our clothes were handmade, handed down from older to younger and often patched. Our houses had no electricity or plumbing, but they were solidly built to resist the elements. Oviously, there are different levels among the ranks of the poor.
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Thanks for the personal stories reminding us of some of what’s really important during christmas.
SB
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