Christmas Magic

by Jack Canfield

My New Friend

  How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.

  ~Anne Frank

  When I used to think of Christmas, I thought of presents, cookies, decorations, and a huge tree. Now I think of Christmas as a time to spend with your family and appreciate what you have. My vision of this holiday changed one remarkable night.

  My parents had told my brother and me that we were working at the homeless shelter on Christmas Eve to help with the dinner. Honestly, I could not believe what my parents wanted to do and I threw a fit. I was only nine years old, but still, looking back on that behavior shocks me. As I walked into the homeless shelter and saw about thirty homeless men and women gathered around their tables singing holiday carols with smiles spread across their cheerful faces, my heart melted. Just this sight changed my whole attitude about not being home on Christmas Eve.

  I headed to the kitchen and started making plates of turkey and mashed potatoes. As I piled the mashed potatoes on each plate I looked outside the window to see each and every person’s eyes sparkle and their mouths move to the words of “Jingle Bells.” I remember just wanting to go out there and sing along with them. I looked past all the differences I had with them and just felt like they were family. As the carols died down, we started to bring out the food that was on plastic plates with a Santa in the middle. Every single person would smile and thank me once I put their food down and wish me a Merry Christmas.

  One specific man really touched me. As I set down his plate he said, “Thank you sweetie.” Now this was not unusual—basically everyone there said it, but then he said to me, “You know, this is very kind what you are doing for us. Not many people would help us out, or even want to get close to us. You’re a real angel for doing this. I remember when I was your age I would keep my distance from homeless people, but it’s reassuring for me to see a young girl like you help us out. Thank you and Merry Christmas.”

  I was at a loss for words but I managed to say, “Thank you very much. Merry Christmas to you too.”

  When we left to go home I turned back to look for that nice man. I saw him in the corner bundled up with one thin blanket and a two-inch pillow. Tears blurred my vision; all I wanted to do was stay with him, bring him my big comforter I sleep with at night that I usually push to the side of my bed, and give him someone to talk to. But I had to keep walking out to our car. Now I never wanted to leave, and I couldn’t believe I had complained that I didn’t want to come.

  I got home and as I sat down to eat a pizza with my family for Christmas Eve dinner I started crying my eyes out just thinking about the night I had, the smiles on the people’s faces, and most of all the friend I had made. The man who I will never forget, who said the words I will carry with me forever.

  I snuck downstairs that night, not to check for Santa, but to take away the letter I wrote him and write a new one. It said:

  Dear Santa,

  I wrote you a letter earlier, but I am writing a new one now. Please take care of the man I met earlier and give him some of my gifts that you were bringing me. Please keep him safe from the outdoors and make sure he is happy. That’s all I want this year. You can still bring me presents, but the one thing I want is for you to look out for my new friend.

  Love,

  Erin

  My vision of everything had changed that night. Christmas is now the time I think about my friend, and how lucky I am to have what I have. It’s not the time to worry about the new bike I want anymore; it’s time to worry about how my friend is and if he realizes how he changed my life.

  ~Erin McCormack, age 13

  The Christmas Tree Sale

  You can’t live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you.

  ~John Wooden

  When my son was in Cub Scouts a few years ago, I volunteered to be in charge of the annual Cub Scout Christmas tree sale here in our small town of Woodstock, Connecticut. I was able to find a supplier who agreed to sell me sixty trees at a good price, which the Cub Scouts could then sell at a nice profit. The day before the sale, the trees were delivered and locked just inside the gates of the fairgrounds. The plan was to open the gates the next morning and sell the trees. I had carefully scheduled each Cub Scout in the pack for a two-hour shift in which they would sell the Christmas trees (with a parent, of course). I had even stood up at the pack meeting and given the Scouts a pep talk about doing a good job selling the trees and about having Christmas spirit. (I think the scouts had more spirit than the parents did, as they grudgingly signed up for their shifts.)

  The problem occurred when there was a heavy snowfall that night; about one foot of snow fell, and the snowplows had plowed the snow up high right against the gates as they were clearing off the road in front of the fairgrounds entrance. I arrived there early that morning with my young son and daughter and two snow shovels. My husband was at work, so he was unable to help. As we tried to shovel away the huge mountain of snow, I realized it was hopeless, and it would take two days to shovel the snow away from the gates in order to get the Christmas trees out.

  I thought of all the time I had spent organizing the sale, and how disappointed the Cub Scouts would be if they couldn’t sell the trees. I also thought of all the money they would lose. As we continued our futile attempt to shovel away the mountain, I thought about my options. I could not afford to call a snowplow company to clear away the snow. I was also sure that all of the snowplows were busy anyway, clearing off parking lots and driveways. If the Cub Scouts had to pay for plowing, their profit on this fundraiser would be gone. I thought of calling parents to help me shovel, but I knew that would take hours, even if I could get any of them to agree to help, and the booth was scheduled to open in one hour!

  Just then, a man with a large snowplow pulled up and offered to plow the entire area for free. I watched in awe as he quickly did the job. He also took the time to clear off another large area, so that cars could pull up and park.

  I was so overcome with gratitude that I forgot to ask the gentleman his name. But he had white hair, a long white beard, and as he drove away he said “Merry Christmas.” I remember my son asking “Mommy, why do you have a tear on your cheek?” I looked down at him, with his little Scout uniform on under his coat and said “I’m just happy it’s Christmas.” The Christmas tree sale was a big success, and we sold all the trees that day.

  ~Teri Stohlberg

  The Fifty-Dollar Christmas

  Kindness, like a boomerang, always returns.

  ~Author Unknown

  I quit my job in September believing I had a better one lined up. The better one fell through. It was a week before Christmas and I was still unemployed. I was a single mother. A series of temporary jobs had enabled me to keep the rent current and put groceries on the table, but not much else.

  My daughter Leslie was in junior high so one morning, at breakfast, I was a bit taken aback when she blurted out, “Mom, I know money is really tight because you don’t have a job. So it’s okay if you can’t get me anything for Christmas. Maybe you’ll have a job by my birthday and we can plan something really special for that.”

  “Thank you, honey, that’s a great idea,” I said as I hugged her. Then I quickly gathered up dishes to take over to the sink so she would not see the tears welling up in my eyes. I regained my composure adequately enough to get her off to school, but the minute she was out the door a flood of tears overwhelmed me.

  “Any kid with that good an attitude deserves a nice Christmas!” I shouted, banging the arm of the sofa with my fist. “Oh Lord, if I just had fifty extra dollars I could get her a few presents,” I squeaked as my tears began to subside.

  That evening Leslie and I drove to church. She ran off to her youth group meeting, while I went into the chapel where the adult service was being held. Halfway across the foyer I decided I was not in the mood for any “isn’t it all so joyful” messages. I reversed my direction and headed back out
side. My friend Jodie was entering through the same doorway. Grabbing my arm, she said, “Hey, where are you going?”

  “Home” I curtly responded.

  “Why?” She asked, naturally enough.

  “Because I don’t feel like hearing how wonderful Christmas is,” I replied.

  “I know what you mean,” she sympathized. “I’m not sure I do either, but that probably suggests that we both need to be here. Tell you what, why don’t you stay and sit with me? We can hide in the back of the balcony and hate Christmas together without anybody seeing us.” Putting it that way made the prospect of staying sound kind of fun. Like two little girls conspiring to do something naughty in Sunday school. Linking arms we headed up the stairs.

  As I listened to Bible verses that told the story of our Savior’s birth my anger and resentment began to slip away. Focusing on the message of good news announced by angels on that long ago night comforted me. It reminded me that with or without packages under the tree, Christmas is a joyful, hopeful time, full of promise. I was glad Jodie had talked me into staying.

  As I reached for my jacket, Jodie took my arm. “I want you to have this,” she said as she handed me a folded piece of paper. “But you can’t use it to pay bills. You have to spend it on gifts for your daughter.”

  I unfolded a fifty-dollar check. The significance of the amount humbled me. I felt tears begin to well up again. I had not told Jodie anything about my angry prayer that morning. I was amazed by the way God was answering that prayer, awestruck that the silly desires of my heart mattered to Him.

  “I don’t know when I will be able to pay you back,” I stammered.

  “I don’t expect you to pay me back,” she responded. “When you get on your feet, do the same thing for someone else, that’s all.”

  “I can do that!” I exclaimed. “Thank you so much,” I choked out.

  Jodie put her arm around me as we silently exited the balcony. I hugged her when we got outside and thanked her again as we parted. The uplifting service and Jodie’s timely generosity had removed a heavy burden from my heart. I had a renewed sense of joyful expectation.

  On Christmas Eve a cardboard box was left on my doorstep. It contained a large turkey and all the trimmings for a lavish dinner, with the fixings for breakfast, lunch, and dessert thrown in. Leslie and I gasped in amazement as we pulled item after item from the carton. When it was empty the entire surface of our dining table was covered with food.

  “Where are we going to put it all?” Leslie questioned.

  “These perishable items will go bad before we can possibly finish them,” I said.

  “I don’t think this turkey will fit in our freezer,” she exclaimed.

  As I looked into her distressed face, our eyes met. In that brief exchange we both knew what to do. Simultaneously and in almost the same voice we said, “Let’s give it away!”

  We knew of a larger family that was also struggling with the hardship of an unemployed parent. So we repacked the carton. We added a few things from our own pantry and a parcel of candy that had been given to us the day before.

  “I have an idea,” Leslie said over her shoulder as she dashed off to her bedroom. She came back with a couple of stuffed animals, some action figures, and a game.

  “For the kids,” she said, placing them on top of the groceries.

  We covered the bulging package with Saran Wrap and taped multicolored bows all over it. Then balancing it precariously between us, we loaded it into the car and deposited it on another doorstep.

  “Drive down the street a little way and wait for me,” Leslie pleaded.

  A few minutes later she jumped in beside me, gasping for breath. “It was great! I rang the doorbell and ran like crazy.”

  We laughed all the way home as we rehashed “the great food basket caper.” When our laughter was spent, we made some hot cocoa. As we drank it, we talked about how rich we felt giving all that food away. Eventually Leslie went off to bed.

  I arranged my meager stash of colorful packages under the artificial tree that had seemed so bedraggled the week before. How lovely it looked to me now! Then I filled Leslie’s stocking with the “goodies” my parents had given me a few days earlier for that purpose. Mom had neatly wrapped each trinket, refusing to give me even a tiny hint of what they contained. “Because,” she explained, “Christmas should be a time of wonder, even for grown-ups!”

  How right you are, Mom! How very right you are!

  ~Bridget Colern

  Holy Night

  A bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that gives roses.

  ~Chinese Proverb

  Sometimes the magic and miracles of Christmas come to us in ways we don’t expect. A number of years ago, when my husband, Larry, and I were newly married, we took off for a two-year adventure in Asia. We left behind family, friends and jobs to work for a charity in Hong Kong.

  Two months after we arrived in our new home, it was Christmastime. But there were no frosted windowpanes or sleigh rides or holly branches in Hong Kong. I had never spent a Christmas away from home before, and I found myself desperately homesick for my family and for our traditions—Christmas Eve with friends, singing carols at the piano, crowds of people coming and going, and a big tree loaded with gifts.

  Instead, we found ourselves living in a tiny flat on the thirtieth floor of a high rise. We did our best to decorate. Our tree was a pathetic thing that we had inherited: green plastic, about eighteen inches tall with little white presents glued onto its branches. We didn’t have two cents to rub together for anything better, so we strung popcorn and wound it around. And under the tree went a few small presents.

  As Christmas got closer, I felt ready to throw in the towel on this whole idea of working for a charity. All the warm fuzzies about spending two years to help change the world didn’t seem all that glamorous anymore.

  When a British family invited us to share the day in their lovely home, I thought we had hit the jackpot. But my excitement soon dissipated when Larry suggested we decline the invitation.

  “We’ve met so many people here who don’t have anywhere to go for Christmas,” he said. “I think we need to cook a turkey and open our door to whoever wants to come.”

  So we declined the invitation, and got the word out to our new friends: “We’re cooking a turkey. If you need a place to spend Christmas, come and join us.”

  Of course, now we know all about the rules of Christmas entertaining. If you’re going to have people in, the tree should be beautiful, the table should be set with candles and good china, there should be a fire blazing in the hearth and a big wreath on the door.

  But then, we didn’t know any better. We didn’t know that paper plates were not enough, that a plastic tree didn’t make a good focal point, that a living room the size of a sandbox wasn’t big enough for a crowd.

  In the days leading up to Christmas, our guest list started growing. Even on Christmas morning, the phone rang several times—new acquaintances, people we had met in passing—“I heard you were having Christmas dinner today. Is there room for a few more?”

  When they arrived, they introduced themselves to us and to one another, loaded their plates with food and found a place on the floor. The room buzzed as twenty people shared their stories—some were traveling through Asia, some were volunteers in China or Hong Kong, some were just lonely and had no one else to spend the day with.

  When the meal was finished, we sat around the living room, enjoying the conversation. In a quiet moment, someone started singing: “Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright....” And everyone joined in. When the song ended, it was quiet. And then someone started to sing again: “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head....”

  And there we were—like Mary and Joseph and Jesus, we were all uprooted from our families and friends. Like them, we were vagabonds a long way from home. They were being asked to do something big to change the world. We were all trying t
o do our small part to change the world too.

  And in that tiny living room on the thirtieth floor of a high rise in the bustling city of Hong Kong, we found a Christmas that none of us had planned. It was simply a gift to us all. For the vagabonds and volunteers around that little tree, it was a holy night.

  ~Marla Stewart Konrad

  A Box at Midnight

  Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness.

  ~Seneca

  As I unpacked the boxes of new coats in the back room of Atkinson’s Department Store, I saw it. My dream coat. I’d been poring over catalogs for ages in search of the stunning style that I’d first glimpsed in a magazine. Nothing had been exactly right. Until now.

  The fur collar, the princess line, the smell of the rich gold suede—everything was as I’d imagined. I tried it on. It fit perfectly. I wrapped the luxurious softness around myself like a model on a runway, preening in the tri-fold mirror. I looked much more sophisticated than my sixteen years. I picked up the price tag, then dropped it as though it had burned my hand. Wow! I never knew we sold merchandise this expensive. Even with my employee discount, this one coat would use up all the money I’d worked so hard to save.

  I knew that I shouldn’t buy myself a present at Christmastime, but I’d purchased the gifts for my family long before. Mom and I had discussed me buying a coat at Atkinson’s months ago. Besides, I earned this, toiling all last summer and every weekend this fall for this one prize. I couldn’t help it that my ideal coat waited until this moment to appear.

  Still, I felt just a little selfish. I couldn’t get that Bible verse out of my mind that we’d talked about at youth group the week before. “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Those words haunted me all day. I had only been a follower of Christ for a couple of years, but I was learning and growing all the time. I wanted to live my life in a way that reflected my savior to those around me. But I also wanted my dream coat.