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 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, 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'tbe Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to 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? 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?" Widow 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.
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.
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
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.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
AND
GOD BLESS EVERY
ONE
To find
a Rescue Mission
or shelter near you,
and volunteer to serve the homeless,
the addicted, the lost, the needy,
and the least, or just to donate. please check your local phone book
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