A heartwarming tale… I got it from a friend a long time ago. The original author is unknown.
Pa never showed much sympathy for people who wasted their money and then never had enough for the basics. His heart, however, was as wide as the outdoors for those who truly needed it. He taught me that giving, not receiving, is the source of the most satisfaction in life.
The Best Christmas
It was the eve of Christmas 1881. At the age of fifteen, I felt as though everything had fallen apart since I simply could not afford the rifle I had requested for Christmas. For whatever reason, we finished the chores early that evening. I assumed that Pa wanted a little more time so that we could read the Bible together. I removed my boots after supper, sprawled out in front of the fireplace, and waited for Pa to retrieve the ancient Bible.
To be honest, I was not in the right frame of mind to read the Scriptures because I was still feeling sorry for myself. Instead of getting the Bible, however, Pa wrapped himself up once again and went outdoors. Since we had already completed all of the jobs, I was unable to solve it. I was too preoccupied with moping about myself to give it any thought.
Pa soon returned. There was ice in his beard on this chilly, bright night. His words, “Come on, Matt,” “It is cold outside tonight, so bundle up well.” I was furious at the time. In addition to not getting the gun for Christmas, Pa was now dragging me outside without any apparent reason. I could not think of anything more that needed to be done, especially on a night like this, since we had already completed all the duties. I stood up, put my boots back on, and grabbed my coat, mittens, and cap because I knew that Pa was not very patient when people were dragging their feet after he had instructed them to do anything.
As I opened the door to exit the house, Ma weirdly smiled at me. I was not sure what was wrong, but something was awry. I was even more disappointed outside. The construction crew was already attached to the large sled in front of the home. What we were going to perform was not going to be a simple, quick, or short task. I knew. This sled was never hitched up unless we were transporting heavy cargo. Reins in hand, Pa was already on the seat. I grudgingly ascended next to him. I was already feeling the cold. I was not content.
Pa hauled the sled around the house while I was on it and came to a stop in front of the woodshed. I followed him as he got off. He stated, “I suppose we will put on the high sideboards.” “Help me here.” The tall sideboards! With the high sideboards in place, whatever we were going to undertake would be much larger than it had been with just the low sideboards in place. Following our sideboard trade, Pa entered the woodshed and emerged carrying an armful of wood—the wood I had spent the entire summer transporting down from the mountain and the entire fall cutting and sawing into blocks. What was he doing?
I finally said something. I said, “Pa,” “what are you doing? He inquired, “Have you recently visited the Widow Jensen’s?” About two miles down the road was the home of the Widow Jensen. A year or so prior, her husband had passed away, leaving her with three children, the eldest of which was eight years old. Yes, I had passed by, but what the heck? I said, “Yeah,” “Why?” Pa remarked, “I rode by just today.” Little Jakey was searching the woodpile for some chips. Matt, they have run out of wood. He only said that before turning around and returning to the woodshed to retrieve another armload of wood. I went with him.
I started to question whether the horses could pull the sled after we stacked it so high. At last, Pa halted our smokehouse. We proceeded there, where Pa removed a large ham and a side of bacon. He gave them to me and instructed me to wait while they were on the sled. Upon his return, he had a smaller sack of something in his left hand and a sack of flour over his right shoulder. I said, “What is in the tiny sack?” “Shoes. They have no more shoes. When Jakey was out in the woodpile this morning, he was only wearing gunnysacks around his feet. I also got some sweets for the kids. Without a little candy, Christmas would not be the same. Almost in silence, we made the two-mile ride to Widow Jensen’s. I made an effort to consider what Pa was doing.
By the standards of the world, we had very little.
We did, of course, have a large woodpile, but most of it was still logs that I would need to split and saw into blocks before we could use it. We could also afford to buy meat and grain, but why was Pa buying them shoes and candies when I knew we had no money? Why was he doing any of this? We should not have cared; Widow Jensen had neighbors who were closer than us. After gently unloading the wood as we entered the Jensen house from the blind side, we carried the flour, pork, and shoes to the door. We knocked.
“Who is it?” a timid voice murmured as the door cracked open. “My son, Matt, and Ma’am, Lucas Miles. Could we stay indoors for a while?” Widow Jensen allowed us in by opening the door. A blanket was slung across her shoulders. The kids were seated in front of the fireplace, which was lit by a tiny fire that barely produced any heat at all, and were wrapped in another. After fumbling with a match, Widow Jensen ignited the lamp. Pa remarked, “We brought you a few things, Ma’am,” and put the flour sack down. The meat was placed on the table by me. Pa then gave her the shoe bag.
With hesitation, she opened it and removed each pair of shoes one at a time. There were strong shoes, the nicest ones that would last, one for her and one for each of the kids. I kept a close eye on her. Tears began to well up in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks as she bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. She looked up at Pa as if she was about to say something but was unable to do so. Pa remarked, “We brought a cargo of wood too, Ma’am,” “Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile,” he replied, turning to face me. Let us heat this place up and bring that fire up to size.”
When I returned outside to bring in the wood, I was a different person. As much as I hate to admit it, I was crying, and I also had a large lump in my throat. The image of those three children huddled around the hearth and their mother standing there, tears streaming down her cheeks, speechless with thankfulness, kept coming to me. My soul was filled with a joy I had never experienced before, and my heart grew inside of me.
I had previously given during Christmas numerous times, but never before has it had such a profound impact. I could tell that we were saving these people’s lives. Before long, the fire was blazing and everyone was feeling extremely happy. When Pa gave each child a piece of candy, the children began to giggle, and Widow Jensen watched with a smile that had likely not been on her face in a long time. At last, she faced us. Her words were, “God bless you.” “I am aware that you were sent by the Lord. I have been praying with the kids that he will spare us by sending one of his angels.”
Despite my best efforts, the knot in my throat reappeared, and my eyes began to flood up with tears. I had never considered Pa in those precise terms before, but after hearing Widow Jensen say it, I realized that was most likely accurate. I firmly believed that there had never been a better man than Pa. I began to recall the several occasions he had gone above and beyond for Ma and me. As I considered it, the list appeared to go on forever.
Before we went, Pa demanded that we all try on the shoes. When they all fit, I was astounded and questioned how he had determined which sizes to order. Then I assumed that the Lord would make sure he had the correct measurements if he was on an errand for him. By the time we got up to go, Widow Jensen was crying once more. Pa gathered all the children in his large arms and embraced them. They held on to him and resisted our leaving. I was relieved to still have my father because I could tell they missed theirs. “The Mrs. asked me to invite you and the kids around for Christmas dinner tomorrow,” Pa replied, turning to Widow Jensen at the door. There will be more turkey than the three of us can consume, because consuming turkey for too many meals can make a man angry. We will stop by to pick you up at around eleven. Seeing some young people again will be pleasant. It is been a while since I was a child, Matt. I was the youngest. All of my siblings—two brothers and two sisters—were married and had left home. Widow Jensen murmured, “Thank you, Brother Miles,” and nodded. “‘May the Lord bless you,’ I know for sure that He will,” is not something I need to say.
I did not even realize it was freezing out on the sled since I felt a deep-seated warmth. “Matt, I want you to know something,” said Pa, turning to face me after we had left. Throughout the year, your mother and I have been saving a little cash here and there to purchase the rifle for you, but we were short on funds. To makeup, a man who owed me a little sum of money from years ago stopped by yesterday. I went into town this morning to get you the weapon, and your mother and I were enthusiastic about the prospect. However, I knew what I had to do when I noticed young Jakey scratching in the woodpile while wearing those gunnysacks over his feet. Son, I bought those kids some shoes and some sweets with the money. I hope you get it.
I realized, and tears welled up in my eyes once more. I was really happy that Pa had done it, and I fully understood. The gun did not seem like a top priority to me anymore. I had received much more from Pa. He had shown me the expression on Widow Jensen’s face and her three children’s bright smiles. I remembered every time I saw a Jensen or cut a block of wood for the rest of my life, and it brought back the same happiness I had experienced that night coming home with Pa. That night, Pa gave me more than just a gun; he gave me the most amazing Christmas I have ever experienced. Unknown Author
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