“It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.” — Mother Teresa
The Christmas season is upon us. Thank you to our city crews for putting up the Christmas decorations. The lit trees along Main Street add to the beauty of the season, as do the lights at the Spirit of Shawano Park. Thanks also to our Fire Department personnel for making the ice skating rink at Memorial Park.
The beautifully decorated store windows invite us to come in and shop. Thank you to our merchants for the wonderful displays. The Christmas season is a perfect time to show businesses we appreciate them by shopping locally.
In today’s article, I hope you will enjoy the short inspirational Christmas story, written by Nancy W. Gavin. It was originally published in the Dec. 14, 1982, issue of Women’s Day magazine. I hope this moving story reminds us all of the true meaning of Christmas and how giving from the heart can bring about immense pleasure. The title is: “For the Man Who Hated Christmas.”
“It was 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 ten years.
“It all began because my husband, Mike, hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it – overspending and the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma; 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 on the wrestling team 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 red and black uniforms and sparking 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 opposing team obviously could not afford.
“Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. Mike, seated next to me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have lots of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”
“Mike loved kids – all kids. He so enjoyed coaching 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 a small white envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done, and this was his gift from me.
“Mike’s smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year. And that same bright smile lit up 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 so on.
“The white 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.
“The story doesn’t end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was wrapped in grief. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree. And the next morning, I found it was magically joined by three more. Unbeknownst to the others, each of our three children for the first time placed a white envelope on the tree for their dad. It looks like this family tradition will continue.”
I love the message of this story. I am thinking there is a perfect place on our tree for a white envelope. If you look, your tree might have room, too. ‘Tis the season.
The answer to last week’s question — Who were the owners of Chef’s Inn in 1982? — is Orville and Judy Westphal.
This week’s question is: In 1989, what was the name of the supper club whose ad said “Hiway 29 West- Where the Steak is the Best”?
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