In examining the concept of giving that is heralded this time of year, last week’s message dealt with the manner in which we give. To grasp that we looked to Maimonides’ Golden Ladder of Charity. This week’s Inspiration moves from how we might give to what we might give. What prompted my thoughts in pondering the question of what should I give is a wonderful Christmas story written by N. H. Miller entitled The Christmas I Loaned My Son.
Question: IS THERE any place where we can borrow a little boy three or four years old for the Christmas holidays? We have a nice home and would take wonderful care of him and bring him back safe and sound. We used to have a little boy, but he couldn’t stay, and we miss him so when Christmas comes.
– N. M.
Answer: If anyone has a little boy to lend over Christmas, write to this column as early as possible, marking “Christmas” on the outside of the envelope.
As I read the above appeal in our local newspaper something happened to me: for the first time since my husband’s death I thought of grief as belonging to someone else. I read and reread the letter to the editor. Should I answer it? Could I answer it?
When I received word from Washington that my husband had been killed in service overseas, I’d taken my little son and moved back to the tiny village of my birth.
I’d gone to work to help support my son and time had helped to erase a few scars from my heart ad to soften the blow of my husband’s passing. But there were special times when the ache would return and loneliness would engulf me. Birthdays, our wedding anniversary and holidays …
This particular Christmas the old and familiar pain was returning when my eyes caught this appeal in the newspaper column.
We used to have a little boy, but he couldn’t stay and we miss him so when Christmas comes …
I, too, know what missing was, but I had my little boy. I knew how empty the sparkle of Christmas is unless you see it by the candles of joy in a child’s eyes.
I answered the appeal. The writer of the letter was a widower who lived with his mother. He had lost his beloved wife and his little son the same year.
That Christmas my son and I shared a joyous day with the widower and his mother. Together, we found a happiness we doubted would ever be ours again.
But the best part is that this joy was mine to keep throughout the years for each of the 10 Christmases since. You see, the man who wrote the letter became my husband.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” – John 3:16
Somehow not only for Christmas
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others
Is the joy that comes back to you.And the more you spend in blessing
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more your heart’s possessing
Returns to make you glad.
– John Greenleaf Whittier