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THE
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 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, 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 due to dreaded 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
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.
AUTHOR
UNKNOWN
SHARED
WITH US BY SHERRY KERSEY
TUNE
PLAYING . . . PRETTY PAPER
May we all remember CHRIST, who is the reason for
the season, and the true Christmas spirit this
year and always. |
