Great Christmas Story

[Ren]

Great 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?" 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 candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little
candy," Pa said.



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?"

[Ren]

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 a while. 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 spare us."



In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears
swelled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact term
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 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, because I know 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 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.

[blizey]

Touching story, Ren. I believe it's true, because there are many good people around. I know a little girl that died at the end of summer one year. In the fall, the neighbors came and cut the fields, baled the hay and filled up the barn to the ceiling with hay. Then before winter, they had come again and filled up the entire wood room with enough wood, to last the family for the entire winter. The Angels are among us.