The Joy of Christmas

by Amy Newmark

  After a prayer was said and plates were filled, we went around the table. Sharing our favorite Christmas memories and something we felt was a blessing in our lives. A Christmas that I had been dreading had become a day to bond, break bread and share experiences.

  Throughout the years, my Christmas guest list has changed, but the one thing that hasn’t changed is the magic of Christmas. I’m glad I listened to that unexpected voice and that I reached out to friends that December. I’m even more thankful that they responded and took the time to share the day with us. It was a Christmas blessing indeed.

  ~Joanna Dylan

  Mom’s Secret Mission

  When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind people.

  ~Abraham Joshua Heschel

  My mother grabbed her car keys and said, “Be back in a few hours.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked, puzzled that she’d be leaving on the busiest day of the year — Christmas Eve.

  “There’s an errand or two that I forgot to do. Be back soon,” she said as she scurried out the back door.

  Since we had company coming for Christmas dinner the next day, there were still things to do. I asked my dad if Mom had left us a to-do list, and he said no. We both knew that something was up.

  “Maybe she forgot to get someone a gift,” he said.

  “You know how she despises going out on Christmas Eve,” I reminded him. Mom never failed to start her shopping in August and was finished with her list by Thanksgiving.

  Her temporary absence was indeed a mystery.

  She was back at the house a few hours later, just as she had promised, and I asked if she got her errands done.

  “Yes,” was all that she would say, and I didn’t feel like pressing. Maybe she had gone out to get that telescope that I wanted.

  The next year, my mother disappeared again during the day on Christmas Eve. She continued to do so every year for the rest of her life. We didn’t question it anymore.

  The year she passed away I got a sweet letter from a man named Robert, who wanted me to know what my mother had done for him and his family for the last seven years.

  Dear Johnny,

  I just wanted you to know how much my family and I appreciate what your mother has done for us for all these years. Every year on Christmas Eve day your mom comes to my house dressed like Mrs. Claus and gives my kids a Christmas that we can’t afford to give them. She has given them shoes, shirts, jeans, toys, and candy. I know your heart is heavy and that you are missing Miss Sue. We do, too. We loved her and just wanted you to know what she has done for us.

  Love,

  Robert and Nellie and the kids

  That short note was the best gift that I ever received from anyone, better even than that silly old telescope.

  ~John Dorroh

  The Year Elmo Saved Our Christmas

  In about the same degree as you are helpful, you will be happy.

  ~Karl Reiland

  Bridget was a shining light in our lives and it was a shock when she died at age six a few days before Christmas in 1993. She was born with spina bifida and despite her grim prognosis, she was a courageous, funny and loving little girl. She taught everyone who met her that life can be happy no matter what kinds of challenges it hands you.

  Every year after that I faced the holidays with some dread. But I didn’t want to disappoint my other children despite the emptiness in my heart. So I started shopping nice and early, and one August day in 1996 I came across an adorable Elmo doll that laughed when it was tickled. Tickle Me Elmo hadn’t become the phenomenon yet that it would turn out to be — that Christmas’s “must-have” gift. There were plenty of them in the store. So I bought it, paying about $20. I wasn’t even sure which kid it was for.

  Months later, I was watching the news with my teenage son Matt when a story came on about Tickle Me Elmo and the lengths people were going to get one. I commented to my son, “I have one of those.” He was quite surprised and excited, explaining he could get $500 or more for it on the street. I said, “No, it’s Christmas… that’s not right.” He thought I was crazy, and then we both forgot all about it.

  On the morning of December 21st, the third anniversary of Bridget’s death, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through the day. I knew I would replay the horrible night in my mind: her struggle to breathe, the ambulance, the hospital and telling her brothers and sisters she was gone. The other children were the only reason I got out of bed that day.

  As I sat drinking my coffee, my son Matt came home from the repair shop where he had taken a TV to be fixed. He said, “Hey, Mom, do you still have that Tickle Me Elmo doll?”

  He explained that the woman who owned the repair shop was asking everyone if they knew where she could get one. It was the only thing her four-year-old granddaughter wanted for Christmas and she was certain that Santa would bring her one. The woman had been trying everything to find one for Santa to deliver — from checking newspaper ads to entering raffles — with no success.

  I turned to Matt and said, “Let’s go for a ride.”

  I walked into the repair shop with Elmo in my arms and tears in my eyes. When the woman saw me, she jumped up and down, crying, and saying. “How much do I owe you? What do you want for it? Thank you so much!”

  I told her I didn’t want anything but to make a little girl happy. I explained about Bridget and what joy it gave me to make a Christmas dream come true for another little girl. Although the rest of the day was a struggle, I kept thinking about the joy on that grandmother’s face. Santa was going to come through for her granddaughter, and it was a joy for me to be the reason that happened.

  ~Maggie Whelan

  Make a Difference

  It’s easy to make a buck. It’s a lot tougher to make a difference.

  ~Tom Brokaw

  We were eating dinner in a restaurant shortly before Christmas. It was packed but we had finally been seated in a booth by the bar. I was watching a man with a backpack who was sitting on a bar stool and sipping a glass of water.

  It was cold and raining outside and this man’s clothes did not look right for the weather. I kept watching to see if he would order any food, but he just kept sipping that free glass of water.

  When the waitress brought our food I couldn’t eat. It didn’t seem fair that I was going to have a hot meal and this man was only going to have a glass of water. I walked up to the bar and spoke to him. He confessed that he didn’t have the money to buy anything to eat. He had just come in to warm up and get out of the rain for a while. In fact, he hadn’t had anything to eat that day.

  I called the bartender over and arranged for the man to order a complete dinner. He was reluctant to ask for what he really wanted, but I got him to order a steak and a brownie with ice cream for dessert. When I saw him glance at the beers, I ordered him a beer, too.

  The gentleman’s eyes got misty, which almost made me cry. He asked if he could come by and rake our yard or do something to pay me back, but I told him to help someone else when he could. Then we would be even. He gave me a hug and I left him to his dinner.

  I am in no way rich, but that day I felt like I was the richest person on earth. I’ve never forgotten that feeling and I’ve made it a habit to continue doing whatever little things I can for other people.

  ~Donna Faulkner Schulte

  The Scheme

  Sometimes the smallest things take the most room in your heart.

  ~Winnie the Pooh

  “Look what I found!” I exclaimed as I held up a stuffed animal for my sister, Jenny, to see.

  She smiled and showed me what was cradled in her hands. It was the exact same Winnie the Pooh that I was clutching. While we were exploring the local Disney Store, we had both selected the same Christmas-themed Winnie the Pooh.

  “This is what I want for Christmas,” I declared.

  Jenny looked at me. “But that’s what I want for Christmas.”

  My eyes narrowed, and my
smile disappeared. I hated anything that made us seem like twins. I refused to be seen wearing the same colors, sporting the same jewelry, or playing with the same toys. This was a problem.

  I thought about it for a minute. “We could both put it on our Christmas lists and see who gets it.” We both realized this was not the solution. If our parents knew we wanted the same thing, neither of us would get it. Asking Santa seemed to be a long shot because you couldn’t be sure what he would leave under the tree.

  “There might be another way,” Jenny suggested.

  “What?”

  “I get it for you, and you get it for me.”

  I thought about it. This would mean not telling our parents that we knew what the other sister was purchasing for our Christmas gift. I was a stickler for the rules, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for such a big scheme. “What if they find out?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  This was it. I had to choose. The bond between a little girl and a stuffed animal is passionate and unbreakable, and I could not be parted from my beloved Winnie the Pooh. His red felt nightshirt and nightcap were too adorable, the green stocking he held was too soft, and the cup of milk in his other paw was too amazingly lifelike. I was enchanted.

  “Let’s do it.”

  We returned the bears to their display and left the mall with our mother. Our letters to Santa would contain nothing about the bear. We wouldn’t mention our desire to our parents either. Then, on the day we were taken out separately to purchase a Christmas gift for the other sister, we would head to the Disney Store. After wandering around for a bit to make it seem as if we were really considering everything, we would pick out the Winnie the Pooh and declare it was the perfect gift.

  After both shopping trips were completed, my parents discussed our purchases. “Did you know that Jenny bought the same thing for Kristine?” Mom asked after Dad told her what I had chosen for Jenny.

  “Really? They bought the same thing?” Dad was surprised.

  “Yeah. Jenny said it was exactly what Kristine would want.”

  “Guess they’ll be in for a surprise on Christmas morning!”

  Little did they know what we had been plotting.

  “Did you get it?” Jenny asked me when we were alone.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yup, just like we planned.”

  “Wow.” I could not believe that we had pulled off the first part of the plan.

  “Now all we have to do is wait.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to wait. Christmas is so far away. I wish we could at least open them on Christmas Eve.” We had always envied the families that opened gifts after church that night instead of waiting until Christmas morning.

  “They might let us.” Jenny seemed hopeful.

  “Maybe.”

  “Let’s both ask.”

  Our parents relented and said we could choose one gift to open after we returned from church that night. We had done it. We had successfully kept the secret without looking guilty or suspicious, and we would finally be reunited with our bears.

  Of course, Jenny and I knew exactly which gift to choose when the time came. Tearing off the paper, we were delighted to behold the gift we wanted most.

  Our parents could not hold back their laughter as they waited for us to realize what had happened.

  Cuddling my new bear I said, “Thank you, Jenny.”

  “Thank you, Kristine,” Jenny replied.

  However, this is when everything fell apart. We were too happy and proud of our scheme to be appropriately shocked that we held the same bear.

  “Did you know that you bought each other the same thing?” our dad wanted to know.

  Jenny and I looked at each other and giggled. “Yes.” We admitted we had planned the entire thing for months.

  Our mother was still suspicious about all the other presents that were under the tree. We often helped our parents wrap gifts and could easily have one more trick up our sleeves. “Did you tell each other everything that you got?”

  “No!” Jenny responded.

  “We didn’t,” I promised.

  “Yeah, okay.” Our mother didn’t quite believe us.

  Though the other presents we opened that year were wonderful, nothing was quite as magnificent as our Christmas Winnie the Poohs.

  Of course, our big plan was not devious enough to get us into any trouble, though it did take several years before our parents would trust us to know what the other sister would receive without telling her. Gifts were hidden in our house and remained secret until the moment they were opened. To this day, my mother is still nervous about telling me what she’s bought for my sister even though we’ve never done anything like that since.

  My sister and I are adults now, and we still have those bears. We’ve always treasured the memory of that Christmas and have told the story many times. To me those bears represent more than a childhood prank; they represent my unbreakable bond with my sister.

  ~Kristine Eckart

  Christmas Time

  Gifts of time and love are surely the basic ingredients of a truly merry Christmas.

  ~Peg Bracken

  I remember looking forward to Christmas with great joy when I was a child — the presents, decorations, special foods, the story of Jesus’s birth, Christmas carols. In my early adulthood I remember Christmas as a fun time spent with my parents and brothers. And when I got married at twenty-six, my husband, Owen, and I set about making Christmas a great holiday for the two of us. Even though there were challenges adjusting to the expectations of each other’s families, we enjoyed the season.

  Then, after seven years of marriage, our daughter Rosemary was born, and with her came the fun of Christmastime with a new baby. Three years later, Ryan joined our family and Christmas was even more fun. Together we picked out and decorated our Christmas tree. We hung stockings by the chimney, we read Christmas stories and spent Christmas Eve at my parents’ house with my family.

  Then, something changed. Maybe it was because I felt that I was the person in charge of making Christmas happy for everyone else. Maybe I started dreading the season because of a relative we felt obligated to invite at Christmastime who brought with him criticism, arguments and bad cheer. Maybe it was because gift giving with some family members felt meaningless, especially since we mailed presents all across the country to relatives who seldom spoke to each other during the year. Maybe the culmination of many long Minnesota winters was weighing me down. Whatever the case, instead of being a season of happiness and joy, Christmas loomed ahead of me not as a wonderful holiday but as an event that threatened to overwhelm me.

  When Owen and the kids asked me what I wanted for Christmas eleven years ago, I had reached my tipping point. “I don’t want things,” I said in despair. “What I want is to get things done.”

  I could see the looks of confusion on my kids’ faces. At ages five and two, I’m sure they could tell that I was sad but likely didn’t understand why. I wish I could have simply given them a list of things to buy me, but what I wanted didn’t come from a store. What I wanted was help getting things checked off my never-ending to-do list.

  On Christmas morning, Owen handed me a carefully wrapped box. “This one is for you,” he said. I did my best to smile as I started to unwrap the package. Inside, I found one of our household clocks wrapped in tissue paper. “Our clock?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Open the card,” was Owen’s reply. The kids leaned in close as I opened the envelope. Inside I found a card that Owen had made on our computer. There was a Christmas tree on the front and inside was a poem written by Owen in which he wrote that he was giving me a gift of time — a whole day of his time to paint our bedroom and help make our new house feel more like a home.

  I started to cry, but these were tears of happiness. “Thank you,” I said, wiping away my tears as Owen and the kids hugged me. By some miracle, Owen knew exactly what I needed for Christmas that year — the gift of his time.<
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  Come January, when the decorations had been put away, we bought the green paint I had picked out months before. Then Owen took a day off from work and arranged for my parents to watch Rose and Ryan. The two of us set to work painting our bedroom. Weeks later, with the snow melting and green grass starting to appear in the yard, I looked at my freshly painted room and realized the color we’d painted our walls was not just the spruce-green of Christmas trees but also a color that reminded me of the freshness of spring.

  That gift of time was a turning point for my family and me. It’s not as if Christmas was magically easy and stress-free from then on, but each year I have found more joy in it, and as a family, we’ve made some changes to the way we approach the season and the way we give gifts. We still make our favorite Christmas foods and decorate, but I am much less concerned about things being just so. We still celebrate with my family but we decided that it was okay to tell that one grumpy relative to visit at a less stressful time of the year.

  And somehow, without much fuss, each year we stand in awe as we light the tree and declare that it is absolutely perfect. The best tree ever! I feel less stressed about finding perfect gifts now and more joy in listening to Christmas music and spending time with family. Instead of shipping gifts across the country, we donate funds in honor of family members through our church’s alternative giving fair. We still buy gifts for our close family, but we also make a point of giving gifts that involve time — like taking my brothers out to lunch at our favorite restaurant or going to a Christmas concert together.

  The gift of time is something we can all give. Maybe it’s setting aside an hour or two one evening to play a board game with family or taking a friend out for coffee. Maybe it’s helping someone do errands or watching a young couple’s children so they can go on a date. Best of all is the fact that the gift of Christmas Time can be given and received all year long.