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.
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