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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 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.
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 again 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 this 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.
After 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. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last
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 as 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 with so much gratitude in her heart that she
couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never
known before, filled my soul. 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 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 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 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 brothers and two sisters had 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 byto 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. 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.
Now 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.
Author Unknown |
