The Christmas Box Miracle

by Richard Paul Evans

  Within ten minutes a car appeared in the distance. The car slowed as it neared us, then pulled over, and a man got out. He was a mechanic. Not just any mechanic, but a Ford mechanic. And he just happened to have his tools in his trunk. He fixed the van and, refusing payment, drove away.

  No matter how skeptical you may be, the odds of that are past ridiculous. I would be intellectually dishonest to call that a coincidence and ungrateful to not credit providence.

  7

  •

  Upon graduation from high school, I enrolled in college to learn the ways of business, and in the process learned the ways of life; met, courted, and married a fully matriculated, brown-eyed design student named Keri.

  THECHRISTMASBOX

  WHENIRETURNED HOMEfrom my mission, I went back to the University of Utah. Deciding that what the world really needed was another lawyer, I declared a communications major and immersed myself in school. Tuxedo Junction had no openings, so I applied at the University of UtahChronicleas a part-time reporter and was hired. But after just a few stories, I decided that I didn’t like working for the paper and quit.

  In truth my greatest interest wasn’t writing or school. It was Keri Disera. Just before leaving on my mission, my best friend had brought his girlfriend over to meet me. It wasn’t love at first sight. I don’t think either of us was very impressed. Keri was a varsity cheerleader, fresh faced and preppy, and I was a longhaired debater type whose wardrobe consisted mostly of surgeon blues or camouflage fatigues from the army-navy surplus.

  My friend left that summer, six months before me, on a church mission. He asked me to take care of his girl. I did.A little too well, I guess. Keri and I started hanging out every day and soon became best friends. In addition to my job at Tuxedo Junction I had a night job as a watchman at the entrance of some condominiums. Keri worked at an ice cream parlor called Snelgroves. A couple nights a week, after she got off work, she would bring caramel-banana malts and her guitar and sit on the floor of the guard shack while I waved cars on through. Once a car stopped. “Do you have a girl in there?” an old man asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave me the thumbs-up and drove on.

  Keri and I would play music, eat and talk about the meaning of life, her boyfriend and all the girls I was dating.

  When summer ended and Keri left for school, I moped around for days in a stupor before I realized the truth: I was in love with my best friend’s girl. When I called Keri that weekend, I knew it was mutual, as she could not conceal her excitement to hear from me. A few weeks later I asked her out on a date and she accepted. I suppose it was our coming out. Word quickly got back to my friend, but he didn’t seem concerned. He knew I was planning on leaving on a church mission as well and he had six months to win her back before I returned.

  He didn’t. When I returned home, Keri was still unattached. We had written nearly every week while I was in Taiwan, and though we were both keeping our optionsopen, we were hopeful that something might reignite. Three months after my return, Keri and I began talking about marriage.

  Keri’s father, Larry Disera, wasn’t too keen on the idea. Actually, he wasn’t too keen on me. Larry was a gruff Italian Catholic, short of stature, big of nose and tough as a miner. Before his retirement, he was a union negotiator for Kennecott Copper Mine. In retrospect I suppose his aversion to me was a blessing, as he became the model for Dr. Murrow, the stern father inThe LocketandThe Carousel.

  When I told Keri that I thought it would be proper for me to ask her father for her hand in marriage, she emphatically replied, “No!”

  “Why?”

  She looked at me as if I was stupid. “He doesn’t want me to marry you. He doesn’t even like you.”

  The evening we announced we were engaged, her father growled, “You better take care of her. I didn’t raise her for twenty-one years for you to keep her barefoot and pregnant.”

  8

  •

  IT WAS AT THIS JUNCTUREthat fate played the first of many hands. In keeping with my promise to keep Keri well shod, I started looking for full-time work along with my schooling. I had never had trouble finding work, until then. I became less picky as the weeks waned, until I started to apply for about everything I saw. I was rejected for three different custodial jobs.

  After several months of rejection, I interviewed with a local bank for a teller position and was told by the bank manager that I was perfect for the job. She said I would be taking the place of an employee who was leaving, so I would have to wait a few weeks until the position opened. She gave me a number to call and the date I would start.

  I called the bank a week later, only to be told that someone had transferred from another branch and taken the position. Dejected, I hung up the phone. Within seconds, it rang. The woman on the other end of the phone was Bae Gardner, assistant director of the University of Utah’sHinckley Institute of Politics. She wanted to know if I was available to go to Washington, D.C.

  Years before, I had turned my name in to the institute for a possible position as a political intern. Ms. Gardner had called to tell me that a U.S. senator from Utah had an opening for an intern in Washington. I thanked her for the call but told her I would have to decline, as I was about to get married and needed full-time employment at home. She said, “If you’re interested in politics, I might have what you’re looking for. The Norm Bangerter for Governor campaign is looking for someone to work full time.”

  “Who’s Norm Bangerter?” I asked.

  “Representative Bangerter is the speaker of the Utah House of Representatives. He’s running for governor.”

  She gave me the campaign’s phone number and I called for an interview. At the time, Bangerter was a long shot, running fifth in a field of five candidates. But it was a full-time job, if only a temporary one, and it paid eight hundred dollars a month. And I got it.

  I fell in love with politics and put my whole heart into my job. The campaign manager, Doug Foxley, noticed my efforts, and as my candidate rose in the polls, I rose with him. Within months I was promoted to campaign field coordinator for Salt Lake County. I was responsible for recruiting Bangerter supporters to run as delegates for the state convention.

  Bangerter won the party nomination, then the general election. My candidate was now in office and politics was in my blood. I was also introduced to a new profession. The most enviable guys in the campaign were the advertising consultants. They were witty, dressed cool, commanded the candidate’s respect and, from what I could see, made gobs of money. All that for just coming up with an idea now and then. I decided that I wanted to be an adman someday.

  The week after the campaign ended I sat down with the campaign manager, who was talking to everyone on the staff about future aspirations. “You did well,” he said to me. “But you’re still a kid. Go back to school.”

  I did.

  9

  •

  Some people were born to work for others. Not in a mindless, servile way—rather they simply work better in a set regimen of daily tasks and functions. Others were born of the entrepreneurial spirit and enjoy the demands of self-determination and the roll of the dice. Much to my detriment, I was born of the latter spirit.

  THECHRISTMASBOX

  KERI ANDIWERE MARRIEDmidway through the campaign. Now, with the campaign over, I was again unemployed. Instead of looking for a job, I decided to pursue a dream. One of my campaign duties entailed working with college newspapers. I decided to publish my own. I called it theCollegiate.

  From my past newspaper experience I believed that every paper needed a cartoonist. Seeking better talent than myself, I approached a former cartoonist for the U of UChroniclenamed Evan Twede. Evan was no longer a college student but now the co-owner of a successful new Salt Lake advertising agency. He agreed to provide two cartoons a month. He didn’t need the pittance I offered him, he simply wanted the opportunity for creative expression.

  At best theCollegiatewas a hand-to-mouth existence. But
I earned at least as much as I would waiting tables, and it provided me a unique educational experience as well. I learned to run a business, as well as manage a staff. I caught an employee embezzling from me and made him pay meback. And I learned firsthand the power of the press. When the university was about to shut downNewsbreak,a campus news broadcast program that had produced some of Utah’s most successful television journalists, I ran a cover story on the proposed closure with a cartoon drawing of a television set with an ax raised above it. The headline read, “Will the Ax Fall.” It saved the program.

  Still, after a year of publishing theCollegiate,I decided I had had enough. I was just going to close down my paper when, on a whim, I decided to see if anyone would buy it. I ran a classified ad offering the paper for sale for seven thousand dollars—a number I had pulled out of a hat. I had two calls and sold theCollegiatewithin a week.

  That same week I visited our cartoonist, Evan, to tell him that I would no longer require his services. He seemed much more interested in the amount I had made from selling my paper than in my decision to close it down. That weekend he called me at home to offer me a job. He and his business partner had just broken up the agency and he was looking for a business manager for his new firm, Evan Twede Advertising. I told him I would take the job if I could stay in school. He agreed.

  As the agency grew, school grew painfully tedious. Moreover, what I learned in school about advertising seemed mostly outdated and largely irrelevant. I endured only two more quarters before I dropped out.

  10

  •

  . . . not fifteen months from the ceremony, [Keri] gave birth to a seven pound, two ounce daughter whom we named Jenna.

  THECHRISTMASBOX

  THERE WAS ANOTHER MOTIVATIONto my wanting to work full time. Keri had just quit her job to give birth to our first child: a beautiful daughter we named Jenna. I fell madly in love with this little girl. And fatherhood.

  Ironically, early in our marriage I had no desire to have children—a postnuptial discovery that left Keri panicked. As odd as it seems now, we had never discussed children before getting married, I because I was not interested in them, and Keri because she had just assumed that anyone coming from such a large family would want them. It’s not that I didn’t like children. I just thought of them in the same way I thought of boats—occasionally fun, but not worth the trouble of ownership.

  The not-so-subtle pressure to “breed” from parents and grandparents made me even more resistant to the idea. Keri and I eventually learned to limit our discussion of children because it always led to fights.

  Then, one night at a party, I ran into a friend I hadn’tseen for a while. I had always considered him a worldly guy, and I was surprised to hear him spouting the virtues of fatherhood. Later that evening he cornered me. “You have no idea what you’re missing,” he said. “Having children is the greatest thing out there. Nothing in life has made me this happy.” I gave him my well-rehearsed “Thanks but no thanks” speech, but that evening I began thinking about what he had said. Suddenly I felt a strange new feeling I would best describe as a curious strain of homesickness. I felt an intense longingfor a child.

  The next morning I told Keri I was ready. Keri was not only surprised, she was flustered. It was easy to push against a wall knowing it was immovable. “I don’t know ifI’mready,” she said. A week later she decided that she was. Ten months later Jenna was born.

  11

  •

  It would seem that my Andrea is growing so quickly, as if time were advancing at an unnatural pace. At times I wish it were within my power to reach forth my hand and stop the moment—but in this I err. To hold the note is to spoil the song.

  TIMEPIECE

  I LOVED ADVERTISING.From producing television commercials to designing direct mail campaigns, I got my hands in all of it—an advantage of working in a small agency. The California Raisins were the rage back then, and in my spare time I taught myself the art of clay animation and produced a clay animation television commercial, an animated couch potato named Otis Spud.

  I had worked at Evan Twede Advertising for only two and a half years when the entrepreneurial bug bit me and I decided to leave to start my own agency. Evan and I parted amicably and I hung out my own shingle.

  To advertise my new business I put up signs on the sides of city buses. The bus cards read,RICK EVANS IS A MADMAN.A few weeks later the message changed, and a big redXcrossed out theM.The banner now read,RICK EVANS ISAN ADMAN, CALL FOR SOME SANE ADVERTISING ADVICE.

  Things went well at first. I picked up a large client my first day in business, and three of my campaigns won localAddy awards. My salary doubled the first few months. But success was short-lived. After six months one of my clients went out of business, leaving me with a stack of unpaid bills. At the same time my other clients cut back on their advertising budgets. To make matters worse, I contracted mononucleosis, and for nearly five weeks it was all I could do to not fall asleep at my desk. I worked constantly and worried always. As I overcame my illness I worked even harder trying to make up lost ground and keep my business afloat. Over the next year, I grew accustomed to working six days a week, coming home after dark every night.

  Then came another change in our life. Keri gave birth to our second child, another beautiful girl. We liked two names equally well so we gave her both. We named her Allyson-Danica.

  Though I saw nothing wrong with my new lifestyle, the truth was I was missing out on the better part of life; my little girls were growing up without their father. One evening all that changed.

  There was nothing unusual about the evening. I had come home from work late, the lights were off in our apartment and everyone had already gone to bed. Allyson was asleep in her cradle in our bedroom while Jenna slept in her own room. Since I had not seen Jenna that day I decided to go in and check on her. As I opened the door to her room a distinct voice came to my mind.You are trading diamonds for stones.

  I paused at the threshold, then I stepped inside the room. As I stood there looking at my child, the voice came again.You have one childhood with your daughter. When it is gone, it is gone for all eternity.

  As the message sunk in I was suddenly filled with tremendous grief. I knelt at the side of Jenna’s bed and wept. Then I picked up my sleeping daughter and held her. I made her a promise. I would be there for her. My destiny would have to wait.

  Dear Mr. Evans,

  I’m sure you receive many letters, and though this letter may never actually be seen by you, I felt compelled to write just the same.

  At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I feel your book has touched my soul as to change my life. I oftentimes worry over my decision to quit work and stay home with my children. I thought perhaps I was doing them a disservice by denying them the advantages the extra money could provide. It was important that the character in your book, Mary Anne, was wealthy. The tragedy and sadness amongst all of their riches pointed glaringly to what would seem obvious but often is not. The really important things don’t have price tags. I can now rest in my decision. The most important things I can give my children are not material things, rather the values that will carry them well through life. I must love them the best I can, leave the rest to God and hope for the best.

  After reading your book I went into my daughter’s room and watched her for a minute. As I was standing over her, she rustled to sleepy wakefulness. I bent down and wrapped my arms around her and held her close. She looked at me and asked, “Why are you crying?” How could she understand? How could I express all that I felt? I said, “I love you.” She nestled into me and seemed content that it was enough.

  I must go now. Inspired by your book, this is only the first of many letters I have to write. Thoughts long unspoken will be imparted in each letter. I don’t want to someday regret what I didn’t say.

  Thank you sincerely,

  Pamela

  12

  •

  ON THE BUSINESS FRONT,things did not improv
e. I learned that clients were far more dangerous than the competition. It seemed that every time I got ahead, one of my clients would sting me, leaving me with unpaid bills. After a few more years of struggling, I decided that I had had enough of advertising and its risks and decided to focus solely on clay animation. I moved my office to a warehouse and opened ClayMagic Productions.

  Though we had a few successes, ClayMagic Productions never flew. All the while, I was steadily descending deeper into debt. Close to fifty thousand dollars’ worth. I was receiving daily collection calls from nasty people, while my stomach acid digested my stomach lining. In spite of my promise to Jenna, I was now forced to work long days. In the final months of my business I was working up to a hundred and twenty hours a week just to stave off financial collapse.

  All this time I did what I could to shield Keri and thegirls from our financial realities. I scrounged gas money and ate soup every day for lunch at a soup kitchen a few blocks from the warehouse where the bread sticks were free.

  Finally I admitted defeat. I began closing down my business while I looked for a job, realizing that it would likely take a decade to pay off my business debts. Coincidentally, that same week I received a phone call from an old business associate I had not spoken with for more than a year. He said that he had recently heard of a job and for some reason kept thinking of me. It was a design and marketing position for a bank in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. The pay wasn’t great, but it was far more than I was making, and my salary would be tax free. Our family would have an adventure while I whittled away at my debts. It was, I decided, an answer to prayer. But when I prayed about the position, I felt a strong impression to stay put—that it was only a distraction.A distraction from what?I thought.Without knowing why, I turned down the job.