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To
Everything There is a Season: . A Time to Weep, A Time to
Laugh.
Ecclesiastes 3
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A Small White Envelope
at Christmas
It's
just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas
tree. No name, no identification, no inscription.
It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or
so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true
meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-
overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute
to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for
Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't
think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual
shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something
special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level
at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a
non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city
church, mostly poor. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged
that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them
together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in
their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling
shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the
other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet
designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team
obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping
them. We took every weight class. And as each of
their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with
false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them
could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but
losing like this could take the heart right out of them."
Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having
coached little league football, baseball and
lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present
came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store
and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them
anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I
placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I
had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the
brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding
years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one
year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey
game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home
had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and
on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was
always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children,
ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed
anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal
its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but
the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't
end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When
Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely
got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing
an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three
more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope
on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and
someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around
the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their
fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas
spirit, will always be with us.
May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the
true Christmas spirit this year and always.
Return to A Time to
Laugh HOME from A Small White Envelope at Christmas
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