The Joy of Christmas

by Amy Newmark

  Then, shy Matthew, who had been so afraid to see Santa at the party, ran out into the middle of the yard, lifted his hands to the sky and yelled, “I love you, Santa Claus!”

  The next morning, when the tree held warm jammies and a book, the kids were thrilled. They declared it the best Christmas ever.

  Today, it is still our favorite Christmas.

  It was a lesson in faith, and simple joys, and sharing. It was a gift that our family now “pays forward” every year.

  Maybe it was only a few gifts tucked into a sled. But for me, it was the truth of the world. It was the spirit of Santa. And, it changed me forever.

  ~Susan Traugh

  An Open Heart Every Day

  A single act of kindness throws out roots in all directions, and the roots spring up and make new trees.

  ~Amelia Earhart

  One December day I was hurriedly moving along to get out of the extreme cold when I encountered an elderly, white-haired man. At first he solemnly shuffled along, seemingly lost within himself. His white bearded chin was lowered to his chest — giving me the impression his spirits were even lower. Yet something in his plump stature implied a regal grace even though he was wearing a frayed coat and baggy old pants that made him look like a derelict.

  I felt sorry for this lonely looking stranger and wanted him to know someone cared. I smiled and said, “Isn’t this weather something? It’s so cold today that even the animals have ceased to play.”

  Ignoring me, he kept right on walking.

  Then… he abruptly stopped, swung around, and said, “I’m glad you spoke. Or today this old man would have forever given up hope on his fellow man’s ability to communicate friendliness.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I said.

  “You have nothing to be pardoned for,” he exclaimed. “It’s those who scurry about never acknowledging others who should ask to be pardoned. I’ve been searching this whole month to find one friendly person to engage me in some kind of cordial conversation… no matter who or what I appear to be. Instead, I receive hasty handouts of money. Apparently, these people seem to feel that’s all I’m worthy of.”

  After hearing his sad words, I looked around us at the people who were rushing here and there. He was totally right. They were all intent on getting where they needed to go, as if they had tunnel vision.

  “Furthermore,” he continued, as his face portrayed sorrow, “I couldn’t even find a smiling face. People just scurried about with deadpan looks. Nor did they bother to even say hello to anyone they didn’t know.”

  As he talked, I searched his broad face with its dimpled cheeks for a sign of joviality. And then, suddenly, his pale blue eyes began to twinkle.

  “And wouldn’t you know it,” he exclaimed, “I’m also negligent of losing my gladsome perspective. I got so caught up in my own thoughts and actions, that I, too, almost missed my chance to befriend someone.”

  A smile warmed my face, but a shiver clutched at my heart. Not from the elements of the weather, but from the thought of someone emotionally pained over not being acknowledged as a human being, no matter what his station in life.

  I asked him if he would like to share lunch with me at a nearby café. Laying his gloved finger aside of his impish nose, he gave me an affirmative nod, and then hastily grabbed my arm to direct me. At first, I had thoughts of being hustled, and then I felt ashamed. After all, I was the one who first spoke to him, because he looked like he needed some human contact.

  After an hour of laughter and pleasant conversation with this memorable elf-like man, I reached for the lunch check. Immediately, my guest sprang from his chair and grabbed the check from my hand.

  “Oh, no, you don’t! This is my gift to you for restoring my faith that there’s still congeniality in the hearts of mankind.”

  As we left the café he surprisingly gave me a hug, and then exclaimed while bounding away, “Merry Christmas, fidus Achates (trusted friend).”

  ~Sylvia Bright-Green

  Kindness of a Stranger

  If we could all hear one another’s prayers, God might be relieved of some of his burdens.

  ~Ashleigh Brilliant

  It was Christmastime, and I had promised my son, Joshua, a bicycle. But that was months ago, and life’s little catastrophes had claimed my bike savings again and again. I stood at the bicycle display and my heart sank. I had not imagined little bikes were so expensive.

  Surely, there must be one that I could afford. I walked back and forth in front of the display, as if I could will one into existence. “Please God,” I prayed silently. “I promised him a bicycle.” I stopped and stared as the truth became evident; there was not a single bike within my budget.

  A man walked up beside me and began to make small talk about the bikes. He was excited about making his selection. He wanted to know which one I was getting. I told him that it wasn’t for me and explained the promise. And then I told him my dilemma. I wondered aloud if I might find them cheaper at another store. “No,” he said, “they’re all about the same.” I really didn’t want to hear that. “Which one were you going to get?” he asked. I pointed to a lime green one, my son’s favorite color. The man agreed that it was a nice one, sure to make a little boy happy.

  He stared at it for a moment and then reached underneath the shelf and picked up a big box. “Come on,” he said to me, “I’ll carry this to the register for you.”

  “I can’t!” I said. “I don’t have enough money.”

  “I know,” he said, “I’m getting it for you.”

  “What? You can’t get this for me.”

  “Yes, I can!” he replied, already walking to the front of the store.

  I followed, protesting, even as he got in the checkout line and paid.

  “Now which way to your car?” he asked, walking out of store.

  A million concerns as to his motives raced through my head, but I walked to my car, sputtering disbelief and gratitude all the way. My cash was in my hand. “Let me give you the difference!”

  “You can’t pay for it,” he said, “unless you can pay the whole amount.”

  “But I don’t have the whole amount,” I said.

  He ignored me and slid the big box into the trunk. Then he turned to me, said, “Merry Christmas!” and quickly disappeared in the parking lot.

  I sat in the car, in awe of what had just transpired, and gave thanks to God for answering a mom’s prayer once again.

  I planted the generosity of that man’s deed in my heart, and over the years tried to be sensitive to what I could do for others.

  Fifteen years later, I found myself standing in that same store, my financial circumstances much improved. I heard a pregnant woman in the next aisle quietly lamenting that she couldn’t afford what she needed for her unborn baby. I smiled and said to myself, “I’m on it, God!”

  ~Edie Schmidt

  Operation GOLD

  Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success.

  ~Henry Ford

  We had always spent Christmas Day at my grandmother’s house and it was never the same after she passed away from ovarian cancer. Listening to Christmas tunes became depressing, and decorating the house with lights, trees, and wreaths became a chore.

  I needed something to focus on besides missing my grandmother. Having survived my own cancer as a child I thought it would be wonderful to create a holiday gift program for children who were battling cancer. My children could get involved from home and it would also help them understand a little bit of what I went through when I was their age and how fortunate we are to have good health.

  It was only a couple of months before Christmas, so I began social networking on my computer to find the children who would receive our gifts. Parents from all parts of the U.S. began responding to the idea, and soon I had the wish lists of twenty children with cancer for my Operation GOLD holiday gift program. Although twenty children seemed like a small number compared to the numb
er of children battling cancer, it was enough to get the program launched and help make a difference.

  With the first step accomplished, I had to find twenty families to donate presents to those twenty children. After spending multiple hours on the Internet and on the telephone, I was able to find twenty volunteer families that would provide the gifts.

  In just four weeks, my plan had come together. The volunteer families would purchase items from their assigned child’s wish list and mail them directly to the child’s home. I even set aside a child with cancer for my family to buy for. I’m so glad I did because my two sons were able to participate and relate on a kid’s level. We picked out presents, wrapped them, and shipped them to the child with cancer. It was a process that meant a lot to me and hopefully to them.

  Since the program was based on trust and a verbal agreement, I did feel a bit worried at times, but I had to remind myself to trust that everything would work out, and that’s exactly what happened!

  Little by little I started receiving thank-you e-mails from the parents of the sick children. Some of the children were still in the hospital and unable to celebrate Christmas at home. One child passed away the day before his presents arrived. This was the harsh reality of childhood cancer and it reminded me of how lucky I am to have survived.

  Overall, the program was a huge success. I felt like my grandmother and I were doing something together for the other children and families touched by cancer. I had transformed my sadness into something wonderful.

  ~Kristen N. Velasquez

  Kindness Re-gifted

  I don’t think Christmas is necessarily about things. It’s about being good to one another, it’s about kindness.

  ~Carrie Fisher

  It was Christmas Eve as I embarked upon a depressing adventure with my debit card at the store. I had only a few hundred dollars remaining to get me through December, so I purchased a few necessities and tried not to look at the stacks of pricey cookies, pies and candies. From the store’s PA system, Nat King Cole reminded me that turkey and mistletoe could make everything bright. I couldn’t afford either.

  All the way home, my cantankerous Buick spat and sputtered, stalling at nearly every intersection. “Get me home, you old clunker,” I muttered. “You’re not going to the mechanic today! You know exactly how broke I am!”

  She knew all right, but she didn’t care. She let out a huge belch and stalled a few blocks from home. I yelled at her. I threatened her. I pounded her steering wheel. Finally, I took a deep breath and asked her to get me home, promising a trip to the repair shop after unloading my groceries. The Buick roared back to life.

  I got to the repair shop twenty minutes before they were closing for Christmas Eve. But the receptionist in this small, independent shop cheerfully greeted me and agreed to have the mechanics examine my vehicle. A skeleton crew of three men was still on the clock, enjoying some well-deserved cookies and camaraderie before checking out for their holiday. Without complaint, they proceeded to the bay to diagnose the demon I had dragged to their doorstep.

  I sat in the waiting room sweating profusely. How was I going to afford this? The receptionist offered to make me a cup of coffee in the pot she had just cleaned and put away. I politely declined and wrung my hands in desperation.

  At 4:30, the receptionist locked the front door. I apologized over and over again for ruining her plans, but she assured me that everything was fine and that it was important to have a car that could get me where I needed to be on Christmas. I sat back down, feeling guilty but also feeling a bit of warmth creeping into my heart.

  Thirty minutes later, the head mechanic returned to the shop and handed me my keys. “She’s all ready, Mr. Ramsey.” He proceeded to recite a string of mechanical terms describing my car’s ailments and her treatment plan. I understood very little.

  I trembled as the man listed everything on the bill. I visibly shook as I reached for my wallet and extracted my weathered bankcard. In a few moments I was going to throw up. The mechanic and the receptionist glanced at the clock, then glanced at each other and finally looked at me. “It’s on us, Mr. Ramsey,” the receptionist announced cheerfully. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Thank you,” I mouthed as I fought back tears.

  Both employees smiled as I headed for the door and exclaimed in perfect harmony, “Merry Christmas!”

  ***

  I never forgot that Christmas Eve and I’ve been paying it forward ever since. Recently, I had a chance to help another young man when the fall semester was ending at the college where I work part-time.

  I had graded the online submissions of students who had obviously worked through the early hours of morning to meet their deadline, but Ignacio was one short. He had completed five of the assignments, the last of which had been stamped at 4:57 a.m. He was now standing before my desk, looking a wreck with dark circles under his eyes. The quiet freshman was nervously wringing his hands together. He looked like he was going to throw up. He barely spoke except to weakly whisper, “good morning,” as he shook my hand.

  “Wow, Ignacio!” I proclaimed. “You sure were burning the midnight oil! You got a lot turned in! Way to go!”

  “Uh, about that. . .” he choked, unable to finish. He swallowed and tried again to no avail.

  “Listen,” I offered quietly. “You’ve been such a great student this semester. I really appreciate you being in every class and always participating. You know, my grades aren’t due until next Saturday. What if I give you until Friday to get the rest of the work done?”

  I could see the tears forming at the corners of his tired eyes. He trembled a bit and let out a sigh of relief. He mouthed the words, “thank you,” and shook my hand again.

  “Merry Christmas, Ignacio!” I hollered as he headed to the door. “Now, go home and get some sleep!”

  ~Tim Ramsey

  Washing Our Hands in Money

  A partner is someone who makes you more than you are, simply by being by your side.

  ~Albert Kim

  “What were you thinking?” I asked my husband, Larry, in frustration. “You KNOW I invited Ashley. You KNOW they’re separated.”

  Larry had run out to the supermarket to get a couple of last-minute items for me. He had bumped into Joe, Ashley’s estranged husband.

  “How could I not invite him?” he said. “I was at the checkout and noticed him with little Joey, eating at the counter. They were having chicken nuggets, for crying out loud! Chicken nuggets on Christmas Eve while we’re having a banquet?”

  He added, “The kid was crying for his mom. They both looked miserable.”

  That sold me. Larry’s big heart sometimes gets us in trouble, but this time he was right.

  We got back to work preparing a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Larry “helped” between football games, but at least he had prepared the stuffing in the morning. The prior year I had lost a diamond from my wedding ring when I made the stuffing, so I didn’t want to touch it this year and have the same thing happen to my new ring.

  In the afternoon, our son Jim arrived with his wife Cindy, and our granddaughters, Christina and Lindsey, nine and twelve. By then the turkey was baked and resting. Things were under control.

  Ashley came with her seven-year-old Annie, bringing a loaf of homemade Italian bread.

  Then my mom, who lived with us, took all the kids into her room. The sweet sound of their melodious voices could be heard as Mother, who adored children, taught them Slovakian Christmas songs.

  Larry served eggnog as the adults settled into the den by the Christmas tree. Ashley privately confided to me that she and Joe were sharing the children for the holidays. She got Annie and he got Joey. It was a depressing arrangement.

  How could I tell her that the husband she had been complaining about was about to ring our bell?

  Finally, Larry blurted out: “I ran into Joe and Joey and invited them here for dinner.”

  “You didn’t!” she exclaimed. I thought I detected a
small measure of hope in her voice.

  Joe soon arrived with their five-year-old, Joey, who, upon seeing Ashley, ran into her arms crying, “Mommy!” with such joy it warmed my heart.

  Joe sat down across from Ashley. We made small talk and before things got too personal I distracted everyone with my family’s Slovak tradition: “Washing our hands in money.”

  Mother and the kids joined us. Christina ran upstairs to get Larry’s substantial dish of change, which he added to daily. It was her annual chore, which she relished.

  I rinsed the coins and transferred them into a pretty glass bowl with clean water and before dinner we all “washed our hands in money.”

  Everyone always got a kick out of this tradition, which was supposed to bring luck and prosperity in the coming year.

  We’d tease the kids, saying all pockets would be frisked to ensure that no change disappeared mysteriously. This good-natured ribbing always produced giggles.

  When we had “washed our hands in money,” we took our places at the table.

  As we held hands and bowed our heads, Joe said grace. He spoke about the meaning of Christmas, family, friends and the love of God. I was impressed. His prayer was touching. Larry and our granddaughters did their usual good-natured routine of squeezing hands and sneaking silly, furtive glances at each other during the prayer. Well, as long as they prayed I didn’t mind.

  The conversation at dinner was spirited and cheerful. I watched Joe and Ashley as they observed the kids’ easygoing interaction with each other and the admiration and respect they showed the adults.

  As the kids cleared the dishes for dessert, I noticed notes under each place setting.

  “I grew up in an Italian family,” Joe explained “There was not much money for gifts. Our tradition was for the kids to write a note of thanks to the adults. These notes were placed under the plates at Christmas.”