A Small White Envelope
I came across this story over 20 years ago. I hope it encourages you…as it has me.
A Small White Envelope
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 – not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it (the overspending, frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and dusting powder for Grandma – those 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, etc. I wanted something special, just for Mike. The inspiration came in a rather unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. 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. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford.
Well, we ended up walloping them, taking every weight class. As their boys got up from the mat, each one swaggered around in his tatters with a false bravado kind of street pride that could not or would not acknowledge defeat. Mike, sitting beside me, shook his head and sadly said, "I wish just one of them could’ve won. They’ve got so much 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 the years to come. Each Christmas, I followed the tradition. One year, I sent a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game. Another year, I sent a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. ‘Twas always the last thing opened on Christmas morning. Even our children, ignoring their newly-opened toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, that small white envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up in time. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree. And in the morning, to my surprise, I noticed that it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed a small white 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 dads take down that small white envelope. Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit still lives on. May we all remember Christ and the truespirit of Christmas – this season and in the seasons to come.
A Shepherd's Muse
