02nd POST
Not sure how far one could believe in two winged angels yet who are we to deny them just because they don’t have visible wings? If you think about it, every one of us surely has met an Angel, at least once in our lives, it could be some one who came in to support, at the hour of need, in disguise. Help – isn’t that what Angels do?
Goose bumps rise on my arms when I remember the holiday that made an impact on my entire life. I was about seven and the memory of that night when an angel visited is still vivid. This was a holiday when no gifts rested under the tree. But in fact, I received one of the best gifts of them all.
I don’t remember if we needed an angel because of a bad economy—my parents sheltered us from hearing those things. I know that my dad worked that year as he did all the years I was growing up. My mom worked periodically and only part-time when she could do so and still be home for us.
I wonder if the reason we needed an angel was because we had large bills to pay that year? Our house was pretty big by some standards—although we were only middle-class and it must have taken an arm and a leg every month to heat it. We gathered wood for the winters and burned in a woodstove. As a child, I thought it was for extra warmth, a cozy home and a back up for making popcorn and hot cocoa when the electricity went out. I know better, now.
I don’t know if the reason we needed a miracle that holiday was because we had over-spent or under-budgeted. Or because dad hadn’t worked enough overtime or holidays, as he normally did, for extra money. Or maybe we were just not making it with three kids and related expenses.
I do know that I cried when I heard the news and I’m ashamed of that now. I remember both my brothers and I being upset. Why? Because, Dad informed us, that there would be no gifts for us that holiday. There was just no money.
I thought, “How can there be no money for presents? There’s always money for that.” And then I thought, “No fair. Why me?”
My brothers and I lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive home and my parents thought we took it rather well. Of course, they reminded us that the holiday was truly about celebrating the birth of our Savior, not stacking gifts next to the couch as they were opened. But it was a letdown, just the same. We talked about making each other presents, as we couldn’t buy anything. I still cried big alligator, little-girl tears that night and prayed that somehow we would have a few gifts.
The next evening, it snowed. I looked longingly out the window at the beautiful drifts and wished that the season were over. The tree was bright and pretty but depressing with no presents underneath. It looked very incomplete.
When the phone rang, I wandered over to tuck myself under Dad’s arm as he talked. He sounded surprised. He said, “You’re kidding?” and “from who?” The call was very short and as he hung up, he told me, “Someone left a card for us at the gas station up the street.”
When we stopped to pick it up the envelope, I remember feeling cozy in the car with the coldness outside. Dad walked out of the station with an envelope that I strained to see as he neared the car. Why would someone drop a card off instead of mailing it? And why not just drop it off at our house, only a mile away? Dad stomped snow off his shoes as he opened the door and the windows fogged up inside when the cold air hit.
Inside the envelope was a holiday card with no signature. Included was two hundred dollars.
“Guess we’ll have presents after all.” Dad said.
“But who is it from?” I asked my eyes wide.
“I have no idea.”
To this day, our giver’s identity is unknown. I’m sure there were probably better things that my parents could have spent that money on. I bet there were unpaid bills and groceries to buy. But they didn’t spend it on bills. They gave us gifts. The kinds of gifts, although they seemed so important at the time, are lost in my memory. I have no clue what we received.
We were privileged to be recipients of an incredibly unselfish act—a miraculous gift that I will never forget. The important part of the holiday implanted itself in my heart: no matter how little we may have by our standards, it is much compared to many others. Giving each Christmas is a joyous act that my children and I practice to this day.
Learn to give….make a difference
Author: Julie Bonn Heath –
Songsofheart's Weblog 
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