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The
Christmas Envelope
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the
branches
of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription.
It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or
so.
It all began because my husband, Mike, hated
Christmas.
Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it
. . .
overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie
for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts given in
desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts,
ties and
so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike.
The inspiration can in an unusual way.
Our son, Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level
at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a
non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church,
mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that
shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together,
presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold
uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was
wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a
wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could
not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every
weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he
swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street
pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of
them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of
potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of
them."
Mike loved kids, all kids, and he knew them, having coached little
league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for
his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods
store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent
them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I
placed an envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had
done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the
brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.
For each Christmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a group
of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a
check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground
the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always
the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring
their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad
lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but
the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When
Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely
got the tree up.
But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the
morning, it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope
on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday
will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree
with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the
envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
~ Anonymous ~
May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the
season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always.
May God bless you and yours
this
holiday season
with the true spirit of Christmas.
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A Holiday Inspiration from my-TGIF.
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