Do you sometimes wish you could do more to "Make a Difference?" Are you at a loss as to where to begin, what to do? Join me here for some inspiration and living examples of what you can do to make a difference in the lives of those around you.
By Dee Ann Ludwig
As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “The only gift is a portion of one's self.” And that's what these twelve gifts are--gifts of you. They cost nothing, but are some of the most precious presents you can give to your friends and family. Their effects can last a lifetime.
The Gift of Time In our busy world, the phrase “I don't have time to...” has become a universal complaint. Like a growing plant, any relationship between two people can thrive only if it receives care. Most human relationships profit from a simple tonic that is called “tincture of time.” A chatty phone call to an unhappy friend or a half-hour visit to an aunt who lives alone can mean a lot, but costs very little.
The Gift of Good Example Most people learn fundamental attitudes and behavior by observing others. Be a good example by handling difficult situations in a mature manner.
The Gift of Acceptance Many problems between husbands and wives or between friends begin when one person tries to change the other to fit preconceived notions. But did you know that often people begin to shed bad habits once they are accepted the way they are?
The Gift of Seeing the Best in People When we expect people to respond in a positive way, they usually do.
The Gift of Giving Up a Bad Habit All of us have habits that annoy those we love. What a great gift it would be if you could give up an unpleasant or unhealthy habit.
The Gift of Teaching Helping someone you love learn something new is an important investment in their future happiness. Sharing our talents with others is a good way to show our love.
The Gift of Listening Few of us know how to listen effectively. Too often we interrupt or act disinterested when someone else is talking.
The Gift of Fun There are people who “wet blanket” the happiness of those around them, while others lead people into finding fun in ordinary events.
The Gift of Letting Others Give When we let others give to us, and when we accept their gifts in a gracious manner, we may be giving them one of the most important gifts of all.
The Gift of Privacy Too often we tend to smother those we love with questions and demands on their time. Each of us has a need for companionship and a need for privacy. Relinquish some of your natural curiosity occasionally and give those you love the right to private thoughts and unshared feelings.
The Gift of Self-Esteem It's hard to resist the temptation to give unwanted or unnecessary advice and help to those we love. Such advice may unwittingly cripple a person's self-esteem. A Chinese proverb proclaims, “There's nothing more blessed on earth than a mother--but there's nothing more blessed in Heaven than a mother who knows when to let go of the hand.”
The Gift of Self-Disclosure Relationships can either grow and expand, or become stale and decline. Self-disclosure--letting someone else discover more about you--can turn a wilting relationship into a flourishing one. It can also help sustain an already healthy friendship or marriage. Bottling up feelings, resentments and hopes is not only unhealthy, it also deprives others of truly knowing who you are.
Last Christmas
I was happy to offer as a Christmas gift downloads of songs and stories. This
Christmas I am happy to be able to share them with you again--in case you missed it last year! It is my wish that you get
inspiration from them and share them with others too. If you enjoy this
free gift from me, please click on the title of this post and leave a
comment below . With best wishes for a heart warming holiday season.
Just right click on the files you want to download.
Christmas
is a time for giving and for sharing love, joy and peace. This
Christmas I am happy to be able to give you, as a free gift, the
following songs, stories and Powerpoint. It is my wish that you get
inspiration from them and share them with others too. If you enjoy this free gift from me, please click on the title of this post and leave a comment below . With best wishes for a heart warming holiday season.
Just right click on the files you want to download.
No matter what your faith might be, Christmas is a time of year to think about Joy, Love, Peace, Angels and Giving. Our wish this Christmas is that more people will enjoy these gifts, which are the real meaning of life.
We would like to give you a gift. It is a true story of a Christmas angel that you can download here.
We wish you a Merry Christmas and Prosperous New Year!
Five brothers, one truck, and me; it was quite a dilemma in my young mind. I was the eldest child in a family of six children, with five boisterous brothers at my heels. My parents, now deceased and gone on to their heavenly reward, bless their souls, were godly and raised us in a home filled with laughter, love, and prayer. Money, however, was often short. Ever since I can remember, principles like sharing, faith, trust in God, and giving were often-practiced virtues. “All too well-worn,” I often brooded to myself. As if having a large family and a low income weren’t enough, my parents made a habit of helping other less fortunate families.
Back to my dilemma … Christmas rolled around too soon that year. Times were difficult, and Dad and Mom hadn’t been able to set aside much money toward the yearly treat of colors and lights and special desires fulfilled. We had a nice pine tree, which Dad and the boys had chopped down and brought home. We had food, our home was warm, and we had health, but there was no money for gifts, or at least not enough for all six of us children.
One day, coming home from work, Dad had spotted a beautiful shiny red wooden truck on sale. It was just right for the boys, a gift they could enjoy together. He could probably scrape together enough money to pay for it, but he certainly wouldn’t have any money left to afford a doll or any other girly gift for me. So that was how I came to be presented with my dilemma. Dad and Mom left the choice up to me. They wanted to give me a gift, and if I would agree to let what money they had go toward giving the boys this gift, they would save up to get me something later. They knew it would be disappointing for me to have no gift on Christmas Day. I’m sure under normal circumstances they wouldn’t have asked it of me, but I think they must have seen this dilemma as an opportunity to teach me about the joy of giving.
Somehow, in spite of a few sad tears, I mustered up the courage to tell them to get the truck for the five boys. When Christmas Day arrived and I saw the joy on my brothers’ faces as the truck zoomed back and forth, chased and pushed and cuddled, I realized that I had been given the best gift—a chance to make my siblings happy.
As the years passed, though, I grew weary of all the sacrifice and slowly forgot the joy I had experienced that Christmas morning long ago. As I grew into adulthood I lost sight of the value of my parents’ happy, sacrificial giving that went beyond what I thought should be expected of them or what I thought was fair. It took a special experience in my life to fully understand this priceless lesson.
By the time I was out of high school and had begun working, I was weary of the thought of living in meager circumstances. I determined to build a comfortable life for myself and to worry about my own needs instead of the needs of others.
Before I knew it, I was raising two children of my own. My husband held a steady job and we lived in a small but cozy home. I was frantically learning the art of juggling meals, caring for crying toddlers, cleaning up spills and broken glass, and nursing bumps and bangs. My little boys were my pride and joy, and I was determined to give them everything they needed.
I didn’t forget my Christian upbringing entirely. I did have faith in God. I prayed and read the Bible, and tried to be a good Christian example as my parents had been, yet I was determined that my needs and my family’s needs must be my main concern. Once we had what we needed, then I would worry about caring for others. If we had extra, I would definitely share that, but not to our own hurt. I took clothes and toys that the boys had outgrown and gave them to poor families. I knew in my heart that there was more I could do; maybe there was more that God wanted from me, but I wasn’t ready to go that far. I didn’t want to give that much. I was afraid of the hurt. I was forgetting the joys. I was forgetting the fact that I had never lacked for anything important while I was growing up. God had always cared for us, and always provided enough. Little did I know that Christmas that year would hold some valuable lessons for me and for my family.
As the days of summer faded, so did my plans for prosperity and financial security. My husband was let go from the job where he’d worked for nine years. His company was downsizing, and in one short day our lives began to swerve out of our control. Our savings would tide us over for two to three months, but if he couldn’t find a good job by then, we would be in a tough spot.
My upbringing had honed my skills of living with less. This almost instinctive reaction immediately kicked in. I began to reduce spending and guard every bit of our precious reserves. I was determined to make the money last as long as possible so that my husband wouldn’t feel too much pressure. Every day he went out to look for work. Some days he got temp jobs that helped to extend our lifeline inch by inch, but the hope of prosperity was slowly slipping from our grasp. We tried not to despair, we tried to pray and remember our faith, but slowly the days drained our finances. My boys were three and five years old, so I couldn’t get a job myself.
Whenever I was met by a need or request from others, I would shake my head sadly, telling myself that if we were better off, I’d gladly help. The once familiar concept from my youth that “you can never outgive God” was long forgotten.
Five brothers, one truck, and me; it had been quite a dilemma in my young mind.
Christmas was just around the corner when a knock on the door brought back those long-forgotten memories. My youngest brother had come to visit and brought my boys a gift he had dug out of the attic of our parents’ home where he still lived: the once shiny red truck. My mind was flooded with memories of that Christmas: the tears and the smiles and the warm feeling of deep contentment that I now realized I hadn’t felt in a long time. My brother sported a toothy grin as he handed the well-worn truck to my eldest. “Robbie, this truck brought your five uncles so much happiness that I thought you might enjoy it too.” Then he hugged me and rushed out, late for work.
My thoughts were still being pulled back to those memories of that Christmas long ago as I drove to the local grocery store later that afternoon to buy what things we’d need for our Christmas dinner.
On the way I passed by the home of the Thomas family. Dave Thomas had worked with my husband and I had met his wife a few times at the local park. Dave had been let go a month earlier than my husband, and they had four small children. He too was looking for work, but his wife was barely holding up. Things had been tough for them, and with four kids they hadn’t been able to save much even when he was working.
I felt bad for them, I really did. But how could I take away from what would be the food for my two sons in order to help them? How could I give them what we needed? It had been three months now since my husband had lost his job, and our savings were nearly gone. Yet, without a doubt the Thomas family was worse off than we were. We could somehow manage to skimp for a few days and help them out. I weighed both sides, with my mind moving swiftly back and forth, trying to decide between my heart and my head. I was in turmoil as I entered the store and distractedly roamed about, trying to decide what to do. My eyes landed on the toy shelves, and I spotted a bright red truck.
Slowly it began to dawn on me that the spirit of giving of that Christmas many years ago had survived the test of time; it was still in my heart. I had a chance to find that contentment once again. I couldn’t shake the memories of that red truck going back and forth, and how it had made everything else feel right inside. I thought of how happy Robbie had been to receive the truck that morning, and here I was, presented once again with the chance to give a little more than I thought was comfortable, to give even though it hurt me personally, and to dip into what I thought I needed.
Somehow, I found the strength to make the right decision, and as I shopped that day, I carefully picked out twice as much as I would have bought for our family. As I arrived at the checkout, it dawned on me that we had only four mouths to feed, but the Thomas family had six. So I slowly moved over some of what I had intended to buy for my own family into the second pile. I paid quickly, not wanting to change my mind. On the way home I stopped just around the corner from the Thomas’ house. I could see Mr. Thomas in the backyard watching the children play, and I could hear his wife humming a hymn in the kitchen as she fixed their supper. Being careful to not be seen, I quietly carried the boxes of food one at a time to the porch, setting them down silently beside the front door. Then, giving a sharp knock, I dashed behind some nearby large bushes where I could peek out but not be seen.
I heard Mrs. Thomas call to her husband to please answer the door, as she was busy. It took a minute, but soon the door opened. There stood the figure of a man. He walked with a slouch, and the lines of despair were visible on his face in the afternoon light. The look turned to shock, then disbelief, and then a smile crept across his face. He bent down, shaking his head slowly as he gathered up the two boxes of food. Then he began looking around to find who had put them there. Finally he turned and hurried back into the house, and I heard a resounding, “Oh, my Lord!” echoing from Mrs. Thomas.
The contentment had returned; it was more than worth the sacrifice. I slipped back to my car and headed home. That night when I prayed, I felt like my prayers were being heard. I felt a contentment in my heart. I felt peace of mind, and I knew without a shadow of doubt that we would be okay.
One week later, my husband came home with the happy announcement that he had found a job. He was overjoyed as he hugged the boys, and then hugged me with tears streaming down his face. I finished preparing dinner, and as we sat down to eat, with the initial excitement now settling, I asked him where he was working and how he had found the job.
He grinned, happy to tell me the story. “Remember Dave Thomas, who used to work with me? He’s married and has four kids. Surely you remember them, Hon.” He paused as he took another bite and waited for me to respond. I nodded, unable to say anything … as my heart began to beat harder.
“Well, he got hired a few days back. They’ve had a rough go, much tougher than us. He told me that last week, he’d reached the point where he couldn’t go on. He started looking for work a whole month before I did. He’d paid his bills and bought the last box of milk he could afford that morning. Then God just dropped them a couple boxes of groceries ‘right outta the sky,’ he says. Imagine that, Hon!”
I could feel tears welling up. I nodded with a feeble smile, and my husband continued. “Well, those groceries gave him a surge of faith and strength. He said he stood there thinking that if God cared enough to do something like that, then He must care enough to give him a job. He recalled a sign he had seen the day before for a new food distributor. He went right out and applied for a job there and was accepted. At his new job a few days later, his boss told him they were still hiring, and he remembered me. He was parked outside our house waiting for me to come out this morning, and took me with him to meet his boss. You know what I kept thinking of as I came home today, Hon? God bless the person who gave them those groceries; unbeknownst to them, they dropped blessings right outta the sky into our lives as well.”
Tears were now streaming down my face. My husband stared at me in bewilderment, not understanding where the tears were coming from. Then he reached out to hold me. “I thought you’d like that story,” he said, his voice trailing off quizzically.
My tears were ones of joy as I realized that you really can never outgive God. When you give even when it hurts, then God has a new opportunity to give you a blessing. It took me a minute before I could bring myself to reply to my husband. “I do, I do. I loved that story. The thing is, Honey, I bought those groceries.”
I have been rather delinquent posting about our activities.
It started with Christmas.
We were very busy participating in numerous events of all kinds during this holiday season. We collaborated with several charities such as Noah's Ark Children's Hospice, Great Ormond Street Hospital, Help a London Child, and more. We had quite a few touching moments, especially involving children, when we were able to help spread the Joy of this Season. Some of these children are life limited, meaning they are not expected to live very long, due to some form of sickness. Others had severe handicaps and others were just normal people, but nevertheless, needing love and inspiration, just like you and me! We were able to share the special Christmas songs that tell about the joy of the birth of Jesus, distribute hundreds of various forms of Christmas literature and audio material and in general share together the special joy of the season.
I hope to be able to share a couple of the moments that stuck out to me and helped make this a very special time indeed, as soon as I have a little more time!
Our personal Christmas was shared with our son Tim, who came over for a visit from Italy. It was his first time to England so we had fun showing him some of the sights during the time he was here. We also had a family of 5 stay with us during this time. They included 3 young children, so our house was full of children's laughter and merriment during this holiday time!
For New Year 's Eve, we once again had our Candle Light Ceremony. This year our house was open to guests from about 3 PM until after midnight. Neighbours, friends, General Members, Active Members and full time Members visited through out the evening and into the New Year. Besides abundant food and drink, we had several bonding and inspirational activities together, ending with the Candle Light Ceremony. This Ceremony is a Family tradition for many years now. We all sit around a large white candle which represents Jesus. One by one we each lit our own candle, placed it in the middle next to the large candle and shared three things: 1.What we were most thankful for this past year. 2.What goal or vision we would like to accomplish this coming year 3.A verse or meaningful quotation that applies to us regarding the new year ahead. This simple ceremony was inspiring and meaningful as we shared our own thoughts and listened to those around us. It was a happy, but also meaningful way to see in the New Year!
We thought we would have some down time after the New Year, but we just seem to be staying very busy! Another thing that is helping us to step outside of our comfort zone (which is good for growth!) is that we are moving to another house. There is probably no need to explain how much this involves, especially since we are closing a rather large house and have a lot of furniture and household items to find new homes for, not to mention all else that is involved with moving.
Hopefully, after the move is complete (and we have our internet connected!) I will be able to share a bit more details of some of the special moments that God placed in our paths.
It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace.—Agnes M. Pahro
There’s nothing so beautiful as a child’s dream of Santa Claus. I know, because I often had that dream. But I was Jewish and we didn’t celebrate Christmas. It was everyone else’s holiday and I felt left out … like a big party I wasn’t invited to. It wasn’t the toys I missed; it was Santa Claus and a Christmas tree.
So when I got married and had kids, I decided to make up for it. I started with a seven-foot tree, all decked out with lights and tinsel, and a Star of David on top to soothe those whose Jewish feelings were frayed by the display, and for them it was a Hanukkah bush. It warmed my heart to see the glitter, because now the party was at my house and everyone was invited.
But something was missing, something big and round and jolly, with jingle bells and a “Ho, ho, ho!” So I bought a bolt of bright red cloth and strips of white fur and my wife made me a costume. Inflatable pillows rounded out my skinny frame, but no amount of makeup could turn my face into merry old Santa.
I went around looking at department store impersonations sitting on their thrones with children on their laps
and flash bulbs going off, and I wasn’t satisfied with the way they looked either. After much effort, I located a mask maker and he had just the thing for me: a rubberized Santa mask, complete with whiskers and flowing white hair. It was not the real thing, but it looked genuine enough to live up to a child’s dream of St. Nick.
When I tried it on, something happened. I looked in the mirror, and there he was, big as life, the Santa of my childhood. There he was … and it was me. I felt like Santa, like I became Santa. My posture changed. I leaned back and pushed out my false stomach. My head tilted to the side and my voice got deeper and richer with a “MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!”
For two years I played Santa for my children to their mixed feelings of fright and delight and to my total
enjoyment. And when the third year rolled around, the Santa in me had grown into a personality of his own and he needed more room than I had given him. So I sought to accommodate him by letting him do his thing for other children. I called up orphanages and children’s hospitals and offered his services for free. But, “We don’t need Santa; we have all sorts of donations from foundations and… thank you for calling.” And the Santa in me felt lonely and useless.
Then, one late November afternoon, I went to the mailbox on the corner of the street to mail a letter, and saw this pretty little girl trying to reach for the slot. She was maybe six years old. “Mommy, are you sure Santa will get my letter?” she asked. “Well, you addressed it to Santa Claus, North Pole, so he should get it,” the mother said, and lifted her little girl so she could stuff the letter into the box. My mind began to whirl. All those thousands of children who wrote to Santa Claus at Christmastime, whatever became of their letters?
One phone call to the main post office answered my question. They told me that as of the last week of
November, an entire floor of the post office was needed to store those letters in huge sacks that came from
different sections of the city.
The Santa in me went “Ho, ho, ho!” and we headed down to the post office. And there they were, thousands upon thousands of letters, with or without stamps, addressed to Santa Claus, or St. Nick, or Kris Kringle, scribbled on wrapping paper or neatly written on pretty stationery. I rummaged through them and laughed. Most of them were “gimme, gimme, gimme” letters, like “I want a pair of roller skates, and a Nintendo, and a GI Joe, and a personal computer, and a small portable TV, and whatever else you can think of.” Many of them had the price alongside each item … with or without sales tax.
Then there were the funny ones like: “Dear Santa, I’ve been a good boy all of last year, but if I don’t get what I want, I’ll be a bad boy all of next!”
I became a little flustered at the demands and the greed of so many spoiled children. But the Santa in me
heard a voice from inside the mail sack, and I continued going through the letters, one after the other, until I
came upon one which jarred and unsettled me.
It was neatly written on plain white paper and it said: “Dear Santa, I hope you get my letter. I am eleven years old and I have two little brothers and a baby sister. My father died last year and my mother is sick. I know there are many who are poorer than we are and I want nothing for myself, but could you send us a blanket, ’cause mommy’s cold at night.” It was signed “Suzy.” A chill went up my spine and the Santa in me cried, “I hear you, Suzy, I hear you.”
I dug deeper into those sacks and came up with another eight such letters, all of them calling out from the
depths of poverty. I took them with me and went straight to the nearest Western Union office and sent each
child a telegram: “GOT YOUR LETTER. WILL BE AT YOUR HOUSE ON CHRISTMAS DAY. WAIT FOR ME. SANTA.” I knew I could not possibly fill the need of all those children, and it wasn’t my purpose to do so. But maybe I could bring them hope and make them feel that their cries did not go unheard, and that someone out there was listening.
So I budgeted a sum of money and went out and bought toys. I wasn’t content with the five-and-ten-cent variety. I wanted something substantial, something these children could only dream of, like an electric train, or a microscope, or a huge doll of the kind they saw advertised on TV.And on Christmas Day I took out my “sleigh” and let Santa do his thing. Well, it wasn’t exactly a sleigh; it was a car, and my wife drove me around, because with all those pillows and toys, I barely managed to get in the back seat!
It had graciously snowed the night before and the streets were thick with fresh powder. My first call took me to the outskirts of the city. The letter had been from a Peter Barsky, and all it said was: “Dear Santa, I am ten years old and I am an only child. We’ve just moved to this house a few months ago and I have no friends yet. I’m not sad because I’m poor, but because I’m lonely. I know you have many things to do and people to see and you probably have no time for me. So I don’t ask you to come to my house or bring anything. But could you send me a letter so I know you exist?” My telegram read: “DEAR PETER, NOT ONLY DO I EXIST, BUT I’LL BE THERE ON CHRISTMAS DAY. WAIT FOR ME. SANTA.”
Wespotted the house and drove past it and parked around the corner. Then Santa got out with his big bag of toys slung over his shoulder and tramped through the snow.The house was wedged in between two tall buildings. The roof was of corrugated metal and it was more of a shack than a house. I walked through the gate, up the front steps and rang the bell. A man opened the door. He was in his undershirt and his stomach bulged out of his pants. “Boje moy!” he exclaimed in astonishment. That’s Polish, by the way, and his hand went to his face. “P-p-please…” he stuttered, “p-please…de boy…de boy…at mass…church. I go get him. Please, please wait.” He threw a coat over his bare shoulders, and, assured that I would wait, he ran down the street in the snow.
So I stood in front of the house feeling good, and on the opposite side of the street was this other shack, and
through the window I could see these shiny little black faces peering at me and waving. Then the door opened shyly and some voices called out to me, “Hiya, Santa!” “Hiya, Santa!”
I “ho-ho-ho’d” my way over there, and this woman asked if I would come in, and I did. There were these five young kids from one to seven years old, and I sat and spoke to them of Santa and the spirit of love, which is the spirit of Christmas.
Then, since they were not on my list—but assuming from the torn Christmas wrappings that they had gotten
their presents—I asked if they liked what Santa had brought them during the night. Each in turn thanked me for he woolen socks, the sweater, and the warm new underwear.I looked at them and asked, “Didn’t I bring you kids any toys?” And they shook their heads sadly. “Ho! ho! ho! I slipped up,” I said. “We’ll have to fix that.” I told them to wait and I’d be back in a few minutes, then trudged heavily through the snow to the corner.
When I was out of their sight, I ran as fast as I could to the car. We had extra toys in the trunk and my wife
quickly filled up the bag. I trudged back to the house and gave each child a brand-new toy. There was joy and laughter and the woman asked if she could take a picture of Santa with the kids. I said, “Sure, why not?”
When Santa got ready to leave, I noticed that this five-year-old little girl was crying. She was as cute as a
button. I bent down and asked her, “What’s the matter, child?” And she sobbed, “Oh, Santa! I’m so happy.” And the tears rolled from my eyes under the rubber mask.
As I stepped out on the street, “Pan, pan, proche … please come, come!” I heard this man Barsky across the way. So Santa crossed and walked into the house. The boy Peter just stood there and looked at me. “You came,” he said. “I wrote and … you came.” He turned to his parents, “I wrote … and he came.” He repeated it over and over again. “I wrote … and he came.”
When he recovered, I spoke with him about loneliness and friendship, and I gave him a chemistry set, which
seemed to be what he would go for, and a basketball. He thanked me profusely. His mother, a heavyset
Slavic-looking woman, asked something of her husband in Polish. My parents were Polish so I speak a little
and understand a lot. “From the North Pole,” I said in Polish. She looked at me in astonishment. “You speak
Polish?” she asked. “Of course,” I said. “Santa speaks all languages.” And I left them in joy and wonder.
I did this for 12 years, going through the letters to Santa at the post office, listening for the cries of children
muffled in unopened envelopes.
In time I learned all that Santa has to know to handle any situation. Like the big kid who would stop Santa on
the street and ask, “Hey, Santa, where’s your sleigh?” I’d say, “How old are you, son?” And he’d say, “13.” And I’d say, “Well, you’re a big fellow and you ought to know better. Santa used to come in a sleigh many years ago, but these are modern times. I come in a car now.” And I’d hop in the back seat and my wife would drive off.
Or the kid who would look at me closely and come out with, “That’s a mask,” pointing a finger. And you never lie to children, so I’d say, “Sure, son, of course. If everybody knew what Santa really looks like, they’d bother me all year long and I couldn’t get my things ready for Christmas.”
Or the mother who would whisper so her young son couldn’t hear, “Where do you come from?” I’d turn to the child and say, “Your mom wants to know where I come from, Willy.” And he’d say, “From the North Pole, Mommy,” with absolute certainty. And she’d nudge me and whisper, “You don’t understand. Who sent you? I mean, how do you come to this house?” I’d turn to the boy and say, “Hey, Willy, your mom wants to know why I came to see you.” And he’d say, “‘Cause I wrote him a letter, Mommy.” And I’d pull out the letter and she knows she mailed it, and she’s confused and bewildered, and I’d leave her like that.
As time went on, the word got out about Santa Claus and me. I insisted on anonymity, but toy manufacturers
would send me huge cartons of toys as a contribution to the Christmas spirit. So I started with 18 or 20
children and wound up with 120, door to door, from one end of the city to the other, from Christmas Eve
through Christmas Day.
On my last call, a number of years ago, I knew there were four children in the family and I came prepared. The house was small and sparsely furnished. The kids had been waiting all day, staring at the telegram and
repeating to their skeptical mother, “He’ll come, Mommy, he’ll come.” As I rang the door bell, the house lit up with joy and laughter and, “He’s here! He’s here!” The door swings open and they all reach for my hands and hold on. “Hiya, Santa! Hiya, Santa! We just knew you’d come!”
These poor kids are all beaming with happiness. I take each one of them on my lap and speak to them of
rainbows and snowflakes, and tell them stories of hope and waiting, and give them each a toy.All the while, there’s this fifth child standing in the corner, a cute little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. When
I’m through with the others, I turn to her and say, “You’re not part of this family, are you?”
And she shakes her head sadly and whispers, “No.”
“Come closer, child,” I say, and she comes a little closer. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Lisa.”
“How old are you?”
“Seven.”
“Come, sit on my lap,” and she hesitates but she comes over and I lift her up and sit her on my lap. “Did you
get any toys for Christmas?” I ask.
“No,” she says with puckered lips. So I take out this big beautiful doll and say, “Here, do you want this doll?”
“No,” she says. And she leans over to me and whispers in my ear, “I’m Jewish.”
And I nudge her and whisper in her ear, “I’m Jewish too. Do you want this doll?” She’s grinning from ear to ear and nods with wanting and desire, and takes the doll and hugs it and runs out.
It’s been a long time since I last put on my Santa suit. But I feel that Santa has lived with me and given me a
great deal of happiness all those years. And now, when Christmas rolls around, he comes out of hiding long
enough to say, “Ho! ho! ho! A Merry Christmas to you, my friend!”
And I say to you now, “MERRY CHRISTMAS, MY FRIENDS!”
I hurried into the local department store to grab some last-minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys and wondered if the grandkids would even play with them.
I found myself in the doll aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about five holding a lovely doll. He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman he called his aunt and say, “Are you sure I don’t have enough money?” She replied a bit impatiently, “You know that you don’t have enough money for it.” The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere; that she had to go get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle. The boy continued to hold the doll.
After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, “It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would bring it.” I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said “No, Santa can’t go where my sister is … I have to give the doll to my momma to take to her.” I asked him where his sister was.
He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said, “She has gone to be with Jesus. My daddy says that Momma is going to have to go be with her.” My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, “I told Daddy to tell Momma not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store.” Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he’d had taken at the front of the store. He said, “I want my momma to take this with her so she won’t ever forget me. I love my momma so very much and I wish she didn’t have to leave me, but Daddy says she will need to be with my sister.”
I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so very quiet. While he was not looking, I reached into my purse and pulled out a handful of bills. I asked the little boy, “Shall we count that money one more time?” He grew excited and said, “Yes, I just know it has to be enough.” So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it.
Of course, it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, “Thank You Jesus for giving me enough money.” Then the boy said, “I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Momma can take it with her to give to my sister, and He heard my prayer. I wanted to ask Him for enough to buy my momma a white rose, but I didn’t ask Him; but He’s given me enough to buy the doll and a rose for Momma! She loves white roses so very, very much.”
In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about the little boy as I finished my shopping in a totally different spirit than when I had started. I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the mother was in serious condition. The family was deciding on whether to remove the life support. Surely this little boy did not belong with that story.
Two days later I read in the paper that the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I couldn’t forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected. Later that day, I couldn’t help myself, I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home where the young woman was. There she was, holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store.
I left there in tears, my life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming.
“We make a living by what we get; we make a life by what we give.”
With Christmas fast approaching, we have been spending a good amount of our time distributing Christmas and New Years books, CDs, Calendars, etc. We concentrate on meaningful items--not the commercialised concept of Christmas that so many adapt nowadays. Here are a few samples:
An inspirational Agenda for 2010 with beautiful photos at the beginning of every month and a quote on every page.
A "Child Friendly" Calendar, just for kids.
Christmas songs on CD included with a card--perfect as a gift.
We also have been continuing teaching Motivational classes every week as well as distribute food to other volunteers.
