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December 16, 2003 Dear Gabby, Okay, I’m going to say it right at the beginning of my letter: I hate Christmas. Well, maybe not the whole thing, because I do admit that there are some parts of it that are okay. (The lights aren’t bad since December is the darkest month of the year, and I do like Nat King Cole’s version of The Christmas Song.) But the gift-giving thing drives me crazy every year. I’m expected to take my hard-earned money and buy a “nice” gift for all my friends and family, and they’re supposed to do the same for me. Invariably, I procrastinate until the last minute and then drive like a maniac to Wal-Mart an hour before they close on Christmas Eve, joining all the other frantic people trying to find something that’s meaningful (and doesn’t take too much of my paycheck). I seldom succeed. Even worse than what I give is what I get. If anyone bothered to ask me, they’d know I’m not interested in getting any new ties or stupid sweaters or socks. What I’d really like is some tires for my truck, a new software for my computer, or really, it’d be nice if everyone just pooled their money and gave it to me. That way, I could get something worthwhile instead of all the dumb things I usually take home. The whole thing is so stupid. And we repeat it year after year. Where is the “joy to the world” everyone talks about? I certainly don’t see or feel it. I really have no idea why I’m writing to you, Gabby, except to get this off my chest. Maybe you have a story or something, who knows? Merry Christmas, I guess. Call me Scrooge in Seattle
Dear Mr. Scrooge, My little brother Stanley met his silly (and wealthy) wife Shirley in Arkansas and that’s where they spent the first decade of their marriage. But when Stanley’s company closed in the fall of the 1944, he packed up his wife and five children and moved them all to our town. I was excited to once again have some family nearby and was especially happy to have Stanley’s children to interact with since my dear Harry and I weren’t blessed with children of our own. The first Christmas they were here, Stanley invited us to spend the day with their family, and Harry and I were excited about sharing Christmas with children. We talked about Christmas for a week, deciding what gifts we wanted to give them. My dear Harry was a very talented wood worker and I could sew fairly well, so we decided that I’d make a doll with two dresses for each of the girls and Harry would make a wooden toy for each of the boys. It was so much fun! Each evening, I cut and pinned and sewed on the three little dolls. Each one had a different hair color and each dress I made was different from the others. I used material from some old clothes of ours, cutting around the worn places in the knees and elbows. In those days we saved everything for reuse. Meanwhile, my dear Harry was sawing and nailing and painting on the little automobile and the little bi-plane he was making for the boys. We enjoyed that labor of love, thinking of the hands that’d be playing with the toys and imagining the excitement when the children opened up the gifts. Unfortunately, we didn’t know Stanley and Shirley’s children very well. Actually, we didn’t know Shirley very well, either, at that point. Shirley’s wealthy father had always made sure that she got anything her heart desired¾even after she and Stanley married. Likewise, their children were used to having the best of everything, with nothing held back from them. So, when we arrived at their home, bearing our humble, hand-made gifts, we were disconcerted to see the huge pile of packages under their tree. The kids greeted us, when prompted by their father, but otherwise, only had eyes for the gifts. Soon we were seated on the davenport, with a cup of tea in our hands, watching the excitement of present opening. Packages were ripped open and expensive toys strewn about. There were store-bought dolls with china faces and lace dresses for the girls and the latest tops and other toys for the boys. New dresses and shoes and scarves and hats, you name it, they got it, and each gift got only a quick glance before it was set aside to open the next present. Our handmade gifts were not acknowledged at all, and actually looked a bit out of place amidst the abundance. When the frenzy was over, the ungrateful children immediately started in on a chorus of “Is that all?” and “She got more than me!” and “How come I got blue and he got red?” A couple of the younger ones even started to cry. I was shocked. I was even more shocked when their parents apologized to them for not buying them more. I’d never seen anything like that in my life. Stanley looked at us a bit sheepishly and shrugged, while Shirley attempted to draw the children’s attention to some of their gifts. “Look at this darling doll your Aunt Gabby made you,” she said to one of the little girls, who stamped her foot and threw the doll at her mother. Harry stood up. I could see his anger. (I was married to that man for 52 1/2 years and I can count the times he was visibly angry on one hand!) His face was red and he stepped over the piles of packages and wrappings to pick up the discarded doll. Then he dug around under the piles until he found the two dresses that went with that doll. He dropped them in my lap while he reached under another pile to find another one of our handmade toys. That one also ended up on my lap. One by one, he retrieved the toys we’d made. In some cases, he had to search to find the toy or the dress to match, but finally he’d found them and dropped them all in my lap. I put each one in the shopping bag we’d brought the gifts in. By then, every member of Stanley’s family was looking at him curiously, and there was no sound in the room at all except for a kid’s sniffle or two and the sound of Harry searching through the stacks of packages. Then he left the front room. Everyone was still silent, wondering what was happening (including me!). He returned wearing his coat and carrying mine. “Let’s go, Gabby,” he said to me. So I stood up, too. Stanley and Shirley and all five of their kids were silent, and I noticed something funny that I giggled to Harry about later. All of them had their mouths hanging open in shock! “What’s the matter, Harry?” Stanley began. He looked at me. “Gabby?” I just looked at Harry. And then my strong, silent husband made a speech to that stunned, ungrateful family. He said, “I have never seen such a display of unthankful attitudes in my whole life. Every one of you should be ashamed of yourselves. You, Stanley and Shirley, seem to think that you need to buy your way into the hearts of your children. And your children have been trained to think that’s true. “Jesus came to earth to bring joy¾not tears and ungratefulness. Christmas gifts are representative of His gifts to us. Should we cry and complain to God when He doesn’t give us as much as we want? Does He have to give us everything in the whole world before we feel thankful? “Look around you! You have a beautiful house. You have plenty to eat. You’re in good health. You each have a huge stack of presents around you given to you by people who love you! Those presents took valuable time, money and sweat and they were given to you in love.” Then he paused, took a deep breath, and said, “Gabby and I are going to take the gifts we were so pleased to make for you and try to find some children who would be happy to receive them.” And then, he took my hand in his, walked to the front door and, in his most dramatic and courtly manner he said, “We wish you a very merry Christmas.” We drove directly to the orphanage in town and were happy to find three little girls and two little boys who were very pleased to receive our gifts. I’d like to think we made a difference that day in the hearts of Stanley’s family, but I’m not sure we did. The unthankful and self-centered attitudes were already too well ingrained in their hearts. That may be true in your case as well, Mr. Scrooge. Christmas isn’t supposed to be about all that spending and shopping you were whining about. When Jesus came to earth, he brought love and hope and joy to the world. Those of us who have love, hope and joy in our hearts like to share it. I give gifts to the people I love, because I love them¾not because I have to! Maybe, instead of spending your money, you should spend some time with the God who came to earth as a baby. And, since it’s Christmas time, you might as well ask Him for some gifts. How about asking Him for a gift of love, both for Him and for the people in your life? How about asking for gifts of joy and hope? And if you receive those gifts, you might even have a Merry Christmas! Sincerely Sincere, Gabby
ninetyandnine.com © 2003, ninetyandnine.com --------- Gabrigail VanBurden has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com and be prepared for some straight answers! |
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