A CHRISTMAS STORY
by Rian B. Anderson
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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 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 over 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.