True giving

Like so many, we are also tight on money right now. For this reason, I gave thoughtful consideration and planned carefully for Christmas gifts this year. I saved. I worked. I took on writing jobs and business dealings that spread me thin working into the night, and then I took on more work. I knew what I wanted to get people this year, but I also knew another thing: we were going to “adopt” a needy family, too.

You see, the past couple of years our priorities have gotten out of whack. I’ve felt “off”–unbalanced in so many areas. We need to get our lives back on track and it needed to start with one of the most important spiritual giving seasons–Christmas–this Christmas to be exact.

I chose our “adoptive family” through the Volunteers of America where they allow you to browse and choose families by size and location. I picked a city close to ours with a family consisting of a single mother and three sons. They had written little more on their profile then the boys needed bedding.

Bedding.

While we were worrying about iPads and dollhouses and so many other extraneous things, here was a family who had listed blankets on their “wish list.” Children’s wish lists weren’t made for blankets–they were made for fire engine toys and video games and special treat candies. They weren’t made for “bedding.” It weighed heavily on my heart.

When calling to make delivery arrangements, I found Jamie, the mother, to be a polite, soft-spoken woman.

“What foods are the boys’ favorites? You know, what would be an extra special ‘treat’ for them for Christmas?” I asked.

“Anything,” she replied softly, a trace of embarrassment in  her voice. “We don’t have many choices, so I didn’t raise them to be picky.”

As our family shopped for the adopted family, those two things resonated in my head: “bedding” and “anything.”

The day we delivered our gifts–that included bedding and some food special treats–was a crisp, overcast winter day. We pulled up to a dirty, run-down converted duplex house with a broken down car in the backyard. We each grabbed gift bags full of gifts and food, the two year old carrying the smallest of gift bags. She trudged through the snow and we all stomped up the leaning back stairwell right into the kitchen of this young family.

“Merry Christmas!” my two year old daughter said as she thrust her chubby fist forward with the gift bag, the rest of us following suit.

The mom was a beautiful woman–even in a mismatched sweatsuit and hair slicked back into a ponytail. The freckles that shone through on her dark, make-up free cheeks made her seem younger than the 28 years I knew her to be from her profile description, but her eyes told a different story–the story of a tired woman who had seen more than her years should’ve allowed.

She held a beautiful, curly-haired baby boy on her hip and he drooled the stream that only a teething baby could produce. He would later cry when my husband held him, his mother trying to console him while explaining, “He’s not used to men.”

The middle son hid behind her legs, peeking through at our overwhelming family and all the gifts.

The handsome oldest son was seven and clearly accustomed to being the “man” of the house. He made eye contact, shook my hand and spoke to us as if this was an everyday occurrence–a loud family delivering gifts to his house and making themselves at home.

Their Christmas tree stood between an immaculately cleaned kitchen and living room, a baby bed creating a dividing line between the two. The tree looked barren, decorated only with lights and a few candy canes. There was a tree skirt, but no gifts sat upon it.

“The boys decorated the tree,” Jamie said, following all of our eyes. “We didn’t have any ornaments, so they just used candy canes,” she smiled. 

“This book?” she pointed to a few pieces of notebook paper staples together with a child’s drawing on the front sitting upon one of the artificial tree limbs. “J. made this for me as my Christmas present. I don’t know what’s in it because he said I couldn’t open it until Christmas,” she delicately placed in back on the tree, face beaming with pride.

Before we left, I handed Jamie a Christmas card and told her that there was a grocery store gift card included.

“I want you to use it to buy a special Christmas dinner for you and the boys. Do you have a way to the grocery store?” I said, remembering the broken down car in the yard.

“Yes ma’am,” she said. “We take the bus.”

This woman bundles up three children–ages 7 months, 4 years and 7 years–and takes them to the grocery store and back…on the bus…in the snow. I just couldn’t fathom. I knew how hard it was to do the grocery shopping with a two year old and my own car. It was unimaginable. I felt like a  spoiled brat.

“I will be in this area tomorrow. Can I come and get you and take you to the grocery store?” I asked.

“Oh, no ma’am,” she said, her eyes meeting only the floor. “You’ve done so much. I couldn’t ask you to do that…you know, go out of your way.”

“It’s no trouble,” I insisted, probably too hard. I could hear a desperation in my voice as she shook her head uncomfortably.

“Well, you have my number. If you change your mind, please call me. I’m happy to help,” I conceded.

As our family got into the car that day, we drove away in silence, each in contemplative thought. A few blocks away, my cell phone rang and Jamie’s number came up. Clearly we had forgotten something at her place.

“I just want to say thank you,” a teary-voice came over the line. “We were just going through all of the stuff and I just wanted to say thank you, again. Without all of you, my boys would’ve had…nothing. I mean, nothing. There are not enough thanks for you…” her voice broke off. I wished her a Merry Christmas and hung up.

Then I wept. What she didn’t realize is that she had given me as much as I had given her.

As expected, she never called me to take her to the grocery store.

Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others -Philippians 2:4 (NIV)

Tags: charity, giving, holidays

Category: Blog, Feature, Life