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Subject: [illusions] Fwd: A Christmas Story from 1881
Date: 24 Dec 2000 00:31:29 -0500
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Subject: A Christmas Story from 1881
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A Christmas Story

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 children to spare 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, save One.

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 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.

Courtesy of Nick Ganas

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