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.
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 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,
and "give" in a Christ-like manner.
After all, he is the reason for the season,
and the true "Christmas spirit" this year and always.
God bless 1
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.
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 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,
and "give" in a Christ-like manner.
After all, he is the reason for the season,
and the true "Christmas spirit" this year and always.
God bless 1
The joy of living-
Is best felt when-
You indulge in the
Joy of giving!
No soul ever got corrupted-
Or saw the face of hell,
Because he or she indulged,
In the pleasure of giving!
A hungry mongrel,
Famished and abandoned,
An injured bird,
Fluttering and in-
The throes of pain,
All welcome God-
In the form of food,
As their bodies,
And wounds-
Heal under a smiling sun,
The Joy of giving,
Invites the flood-
Of the joy of living
To your doorstep!
A rag picker child,
Who has never seen a school door,
Gives you a velvety-
Chocolate smile,
As a small chocolate
Is dropped in to a dirty palm.
The fountain of his joy-
Erupts like a Roman fountain!
Sister and brother hug-
Each other and give,
Warm smiles and sweet nothings,
Joy of giving stops in its tracks,
To pause and admire!
The joy of giving,
Invites the flood-
Of the joy of living
To your doorstep! 2
You give because you love . . .
Never because you feel sorry for someone;
or because “it is expected” . . .
Is best felt when-
You indulge in the
Joy of giving!
No soul ever got corrupted-
Or saw the face of hell,
Because he or she indulged,
In the pleasure of giving!
A hungry mongrel,
Famished and abandoned,
An injured bird,
Fluttering and in-
The throes of pain,
All welcome God-
In the form of food,
As their bodies,
And wounds-
Heal under a smiling sun,
The Joy of giving,
Invites the flood-
Of the joy of living
To your doorstep!
A rag picker child,
Who has never seen a school door,
Gives you a velvety-
Chocolate smile,
As a small chocolate
Is dropped in to a dirty palm.
The fountain of his joy-
Erupts like a Roman fountain!
Sister and brother hug-
Each other and give,
Warm smiles and sweet nothings,
Joy of giving stops in its tracks,
To pause and admire!
The joy of giving,
Invites the flood-
Of the joy of living
To your doorstep! 2
You give because you love . . .
Never because you feel sorry for someone;
or because “it is expected” . . .
Christmastide can easily be called,
The Joy of Giving time , I think.
As such it will provide momentum
to the act of giving.
And that is its true purpose;
to reconnect us with our inherent nature
and remind us to share,
to appreciate,
to pause and thank,
to proclaim
“this is for you”
and watch a smile light up the face.
That is joy,
the Joy of Giving.
The Joy of Giving time , I think.
As such it will provide momentum
to the act of giving.
And that is its true purpose;
to reconnect us with our inherent nature
and remind us to share,
to appreciate,
to pause and thank,
to proclaim
“this is for you”
and watch a smile light up the face.
That is joy,
the Joy of Giving.
The world comprises givers and takers,
some who live for others,
some who live for themselves.
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch,
a smile,
a kind word,
a listening ear,
an honest compliment,
or the smallest act of caring,
all of which have the potential to turn a life around. 3
Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle,
and the life of the candle will not be shortened.
Happiness never decreases by being shared. 4
Let your light shine in front of people.
Then they will see the good that you do
as a reflection of God shining through you. 5
some who live for others,
some who live for themselves.
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch,
a smile,
a kind word,
a listening ear,
an honest compliment,
or the smallest act of caring,
all of which have the potential to turn a life around. 3
Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle,
and the life of the candle will not be shortened.
Happiness never decreases by being shared. 4
Let your light shine in front of people.
Then they will see the good that you do
as a reflection of God shining through you. 5
For prayer requests and more, visit our sister site Stella Maris,
- a place where truth and beauty dwells: or write for information.
- a place where truth and beauty dwells: or write for information.
To submit comments, requests or materials,
contact me at: klaas-tuinman@live.ca
contact me at: klaas-tuinman@live.ca
I gladly welcome all article, haiku, humour and poem contributions
For empowerment workshops and seminars see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
For empowerment workshops and seminars see: http://www.dawncoveabbey.org/healing-circle
 |  |  |  |  |
| It's better to light just one little candle Than to stumble in the dark And if everyone lit just one little candle What a bright world this would be |
| _______________________________________________________ A MorningStar Inspiration from Dawn Cove Abbey Roadside assistance for your Journey of Life _______________________________________________________ |
Acknowledgements:
[1] -A Christmas Story ~Author Unknown
[2] –The Joy Of Giving ~Drsudarsan Damodar Prasad
[3] ~Leo Buscaglia
[4] ~Buddha
[5] ~Matthew 5:16
Media: So This Is Christmas (John Lennon)
Contributed by Fr. Klaas Tuinman M.A.
Layout Design and Presentation Crafted by KT+
______________________________________________
[1] -A Christmas Story ~Author Unknown
[2] –The Joy Of Giving ~Drsudarsan Damodar Prasad
[3] ~Leo Buscaglia
[4] ~Buddha
[5] ~Matthew 5:16
Media: So This Is Christmas (John Lennon)
Contributed by Fr. Klaas Tuinman M.A.
Layout Design and Presentation Crafted by KT+
______________________________________________
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