SIMPLE 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 --
oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial
aspects of it -- the 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 atte nded.
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, 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 th em 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
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,
unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the
tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday
will expand ev en 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! -- pass this along to those friends and loved
ones who you know are the givers who understand the
true meaning of Merry Christmas.
