One may never
apprehend the real significance of Christmas in the absence of embracing the
timeless truth that “God is love.” In
light of the loving character of God, we are admonished by His Word to “love
one another…for everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.” (I John
4:7-8, NIV)
In 1982, Nancy W.
Gavin penned a touching story which underscores the wondrous meaning and
message of Christmas, which is love…
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. He did not dishonor the true
meaning of Christmas, but he despised the commercial aspects of it –
overspending – the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for
Uncle Harry or dusting powder for Grandma – the gifts given in desperation
because you just couldn’t think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this
way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties, and so
forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The
inspiration came in a most unusual way.
Our 12-year-old son,
Kevin, was on the wrestling team at school. Shortly before
Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team that was sponsored by an
inner-city church, comprised mostly of African-American
children. These youngsters, who were 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 their
sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I
was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a light
helmet designed to protect the wrestlers’ ears. It was a luxury that
the inner-city team simply could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them that day; we
took every weight class. As each of their boys got up from the mat,
he swaggered around in his tattered uniform with false bravado, a kind of
street pride that seemed to have difficulty acknowledging defeat.
Seated beside me, Mike
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 and he knew them well,
having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse.
That’s when the idea
for a unique Christmas present came. That same afternoon, I went to
the 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 had been done
and the fact that this was his gift from me. His radiant smile was
the brightest thing about Christmas that year, and in succeeding years.
Every Christmas
thereafter, we followed this same giving tradition – one year sending a group
of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year mailing a
check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground right
before Christmas, and so on.
The giving envelope
became the highlight of every Christmas. It would always be the last
thing opened on Christmas morning. 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 our children grew,
toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its
loving allure. But the story doesn’t end there. You see, last year
we lost Mike due to a 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.
Our family’s Christmas
tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with grandchildren
standing around the tree in wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers
take down the envelopes. Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always
be present, and will always be a special present for us.
May we remember each
other with love this year, and may we never forget the real reason for this
season and The One who makes it all possible, now and always.
Sisters and brothers,
be continually blessed and please (above all else) MAKE SURE YOU ARE READY TO
MEET YOUR SOON COMING KING. Maranatha!
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