A Small White Envelope: A Christmas Story
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
~oh, not the true meaning of Christmas,
but the commercial aspects of it, overspending...
the frantic running around at the last minute to get
a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma,
the gifts given in desperation because
you 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 an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year,
was wrestling at the junior level
at the school he attended; and shortly
before Christmas, there was a non-league match
against a team sponsored by an inner-city church,
mostly black. These youngsters, 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 sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began,I was alarmed to see that
the other team was wrestling without headgear,
a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears.
It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously
could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them.
We took every weight class. And as each of their
boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around
in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of
street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, 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-all kids-and he knew them,
having coached little league football,
baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea
for his present came. That afternoon, I went
to a 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 the envelope on the tree,
the note inside telling Mike what I had done
and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas
that year and in succeeding years.
For each Christmas, I followed the tradition
one year sending a group of mentally handicapped
youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check
to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned
to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas.
It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning
and 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 the children grew, the toys gave way to more
practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to 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, unknown to the others,
had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.
The tradition has grown and someday will expand
even further with our grandchildren standing around
the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching
as their fathers take down the envelope.
Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit,
will always be with us.
May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season,
and the true Christmas spirit this year and always.
God bless.
"Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."Luke 6:38
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Martha Susan Owen ©2008
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