Dear Gabby

Dear Gabby,

I’m in my twenties and have been married for two years.  My husband and I both work and are finishing our Masters’ degrees, so we haven’t had any children yet.

Here’s my problem:  Christmas doesn’t seem special to me any more.  When I was young, it was all about me getting presents.  There was an extraordinary feeling of expectation and wonder about the whole season.  Now, as a young adult, I still get presents, and give them, too, but somehow there’s no “magical” feeling like there was when I was a child.  I know it’s about celebrating the birth of Jesus (even though we don’t know when He was born) but, for some reason, my Christmas is missing something indefinable and I’m not certain what it is.

Do you have any ideas for me?

Missing the Magic in Mississippi

 

Dear Mrs. Mississippi,

For several Christmases after my dear Harry and I discovered our infertility, we lost that special Christmas feeling.  We were in mourning, of course, for the children we knew we’d never have and neither of us could find that special feeling that had always accompanied the season.

Then, the Christmas my brother Stanley and his silly wife Shirley moved back to our town, we found a bit of it again.  Harry and I had made their children handmade gifts and were very excited about giving them the gifts.  Unfortunately, Stanley and Shirley’s children were spoiled by abundance and barely glanced at our toys.  So, Harry found our gifts discarded among the wrapping paper and, once we’d collected our coats, we left.

That was when the magic began.  We drove directly to the Pendergras Orphanage across town and knocked on the door.  A tired-looking woman in a stained apron answered it.

“Yes,” she said, impatiently, “What do you want?”

Harry smiled at her.  (His smiles were legendary for their beauty, and I’m not just saying that because I loved him!)  “We’re Harry and Gabby VanBurden and we have a few toys we’d like to give to some of the children.”

The lady thawed out a bit when she heard that.  She opened the door and beckoned us in.  There, we saw 16 children of various ages, seated at three tables, each eating a thin soup and a hunk of bread.  They were all painfully thin with ill-fitting clothes.  They looked at us curiously, as we stood there in our warm coats, carrying our bag with five little handmade presents.

Harry and I weren’t sure what to do at first, but then we both saw a darling little girl, maybe three years old, looking at us with hopeful eyes.  Harry strode over to her, squatted down and, reaching into the bag, handed her the doll.  “Merry Christmas,” he said to her, in his gorgeous voice with his gorgeous smile.

The little girl (we found out later that her name was Eleanor) looked with disbelief at the doll in her arms, then back at Harry.  He nodded at her, still smiling.  All the other kids, and the lady with the tired eyes, watched in rapt silence.

“What do you say?” said the tired-looking woman to the little girl.

“Thank you very much, Mister,” she whispered.

“You’re very, very welcome,” he answered.

Too quickly, all five of our toys had been distributed and when Harry and I saw the faces of the other children, he said to the lady, “We’ll be right back, okay?”  She nodded.

We sped home and tore through our house looking for a dozen other gifts we could give.  We found handkerchiefs, books, and hair bows.  We don’t know where they came from, but we found a couple of balls, a set of Jacks, and a tin full of colorful marbles.  Harry found a sweater that was too small for him, a pair of blue suspenders, and three pairs of brand new gloves.  And, at the last minute, I grabbed my brand new bottle of perfume I’d just received from Harry the night before.  Then we headed to our kitchen to see what treats we could find there.

While Harry was out on the porch finding some crates to pack everything in, I piled food onto the table.  We had a ham and quite a bit of leftover chicken. Of course, I had a lot of fruit and vegetables.  My sweet mama had dropped off a couple of pies earlier in the day (one apple and one pumpkin), that Harry and I definitely did not need.  There was bread and eggs and three jugs of milk.  I even pulled out my hoard of candy sticks hidden behind the breadbox and—lo and behold!—there were exactly 17 pieces!

After packing up everything and loading it into the car, we quickly drove back to the orphanage.  This time, as we pulled up in front, we saw many faces pressed against the windows.  “Wait right here,” Harry said to me as he got out of the car and went to the door.  A moment later he returned, with two gangly boys following him.  After he’d helped me out of the car, he and the boys carried the crates of goodies into the building.  I followed behind, with the two pies.

What happened that afternoon still gives me goose bumps.  Oh my, there’s no delight like the magic of giving to people who are really needy.  One at a time, Harry pulled our last-minute gifts out of the crate and then, looking around the room, he’d find the child who seemed to “match” the gift.  It was amazing to see how we seemed to have just the right gift for each child.  All eyes in the room followed his every move as he presented each child with a smile, a softly-spoken “Merry Christmas” and a gift.

And when he got to the bottom of the crate, his eyes widened when he saw the familiar perfume I’d hidden at the bottom.  But with a small shrug and a wink in my direction, he took his legendary smile over to Mae (the surprisingly young, tired-looking woman), and, with a courtly bow, he offered her a Merry Christmas and the brand new bottle of perfume.

“This is for me?”

“That is for you,” he acknowledged, bowing once again.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, lifting the beautiful bottle to her nose to breathe in the lovely aroma.  “Are you sure?”

At his nod she began to cry.  Not loud, sobbing cries, but very softly, tears dripping off her chin as she told Harry and me about growing up in the orphanage herself and how, when she got old enough, she began to work there and how, one by one, all the other workers had moved on until she was left alone to care for all the children.  There was some funding from a couple of organizations but it was never enough to provide for the children the way she wanted to. Christmas time was always the hardest because the children knew that kids with families were receiving gifts and eating special treats on that day.

“Treats!” I interrupted her.  “I forgot the treats!”  I ran off to the kitchen, tripping over a couple of tow-headed boys comparing marbles on the way, and pulled out my stash of candy.  Then, it was my turn.  I experienced the joy personally, 17 times as I handed each one (including Mae) a piece of candy.

After that, Harry sat down on a hard wooden chair, borrowed the book of short stories from the young girl who’d received it, and began to read aloud.  Before long, the room was silent, except for the sound of Harry’s voice, the pages turning, and the occasional slurp of candy being eaten.  I slipped out to the kitchen to see about preparing a very special meal for all the orphans.

When story time was over, and the sun was beginning to set in the west, the kids and Mae and Harry came into the kitchen to see the feast set out on the tables.  Eleanor’s big sister Lillian (who was all of five), was granted permission to bless the food.  She climbed up on her chair, bowed her head, and began to pray.

“Dear God,” she stated, speaking loudly so everyone, including God, could hear.  “Thank you for this big, big, big pile of food for us to eat.  Thank you for giving us the best Christmas we’ve ever, ever, ever had.  Thank you for my pretty, pretty, pretty kerchief and for Eleanor’s doll and for John’s ‘spenders, and for Samuel’s new toy plane and for George’s sweater and, and, for all, all, all these presents.  You are a very, very, very good God to bless us so much on your birthday. Amen.”

“Amen,” chorused 18 other voices.

“Amen,” said Harry again, smiling at me from the other side of the room.

“Amen,” I repeated, feeling the wonder of Christmas down to my bones.

For the next twenty-something years, Harry and I repeated that wondrous feeling by spending Christmas at Pendergras Orphanage.  But we didn’t wait until the holiday season to give to those dear children.  We went back, week after week, delivering extra food and clothing and getting to know each of the children and their sad stories.  We got other people involved with our giving, too, remembering the joy we felt and wanting others to experience the same thing.  Our church got involved and Harry’s company and even our neighbors, the Brownleys.  And when the project became too big for us, we handed it off to Stanley’s son (who’d grown up and somehow caught the giving spirit by hearing our stories) and he’s still in charge of organizing one of the biggest holiday giving programs in our part of the country.  (You may have read his story in Guidepost Magazine a few years back.)

So, what happened to Mae?  Harry and I helped finance her evening college classes, arranging alternative care for the children while she studied, and she earned a degree in nursing.  And a few years later, my dear Harry had the thrilling opportunity to stand in for her father when she married that handsome young missionary, Wendell Schulz.

So, Mrs. Mississippi, if you want to recapture the wonder of Christmas, I’d like to suggest that you find someone who will only experience a great Christmas if you provide it for them.  Just last year I was told of a family who had lost their jobs and weren’t going to have any gifts to exchange.  I coerced Stanley’s granddaughter Jennifer to take me to the store so I could find a few small gifts for each of them.  I tell you, there’s nothing like it!  Harry and I learned, and learned well, from our experience with Pendergras Orphanage, where the Christmas feeling comes from.

It’s all about the giving.

Sincerely Sincere,

Gabby