AngelSong's Gems

A Christmas Story

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 so bad that year 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. So 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
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 the big 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.

When 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't be 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, then he turned to me
and said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for 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, 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 and so much gratitude in her heart that
she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my
soul that I'd never known before. 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 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 himself 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 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 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 older brothers and two older sisters were 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. So, 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. Just then 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.

posted by Angelsong @ 7:03 AM