For lots of of us, 1 Christmas stands out from all the other people, the one when the meaning of the day shone clearest. My own "truest" Christmas began on a rainy spring day within the bleakest year of my life.
Lately divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old 1 had fallen apart, and I could not afford one more 1.
I sat down within the streetcar--and there against the seat was a wonderful silk umbrella with a silver manage inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel. I had in no way observed anything so lovely.
I examined the deal with and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I decided to take it with me and obtain the owner myself.
I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called and a lady answered.
Yes, she stated in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) additional than a year just before.
She was so excited that I forgot I was in search of a job and went directly to her little home. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.
The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but--though twenty dollars was all I had inside the world--her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted cash would have spoiled some thing. We talked for a while, and I have to have given her my address. I do not don't forget.
The next six months had been wretched. I was able to acquire only temporary employment here and there, for a modest salary. But I put aside twenty-five or fifty cents when I could afford it for my lithe girl's Christmas presents.
My last job ended the day before Christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1 had fifteen dollars to my name--which Peggy and I would need to have for food.
She was residence from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifs next day, which I had already Bought. I had bough her a little tree, and we had been going to decorate it that night.
The air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my little apartment. Bells rang and youngsters shouted within the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows had been lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there must be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.
As l struggled by way of the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest Point in my life. Unless a miracle happened, I could be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment.
God and men had totally forgotten me. I felt so helpless and so lonely. What was to turn out to be of us?
I looked in my mail box. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was certain contained extra bills. I went up 3 dusty flights of stairs and I cried, shivering in my thin coat.
But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter having a Pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree instantly.
Peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow.
I stood inside the cold small kitchen, misery overwhelmed me. For the very first time in my life, I doubted the existence and his mercy, as well as the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.
The doorbell rang and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms had been full of parcels. "This is a mistake," I stated, but he read the name on the parcels and there were for me.
When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. An enormous doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A gorgeous leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address was just "California", where she had moved.
Our dinner the nigh was essentially the most delicious I had ever eaten. I forgot I had no money for the rent and only fifteen dollars in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness.
Then we decorated the small tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree along with a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope once again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills with out cringing.
Lately divorced, I was in my 20s, had no job and was on my way downtown to go the rounds of the employment offices. I had no umbrella, for my old 1 had fallen apart, and I could not afford one more 1.
I sat down within the streetcar--and there against the seat was a wonderful silk umbrella with a silver manage inlaid with gold and necks of bright enamel. I had in no way observed anything so lovely.
I examined the deal with and saw a name engraved among the golden scrolls. The usual procedure would have been to turn in the umbrella to the conductor, but on impulse I decided to take it with me and obtain the owner myself.
I got off the streetcar in a downpour and thankfully opened the umbrella to protect myself. Then I searched a telephone book for the name on the umbrella and found it. I called and a lady answered.
Yes, she stated in surprise, that was her umbrella, which her parents, now dead, had given her for a birthday present. But, she added, it had been stolen from her locker at school (she was a teacher) additional than a year just before.
She was so excited that I forgot I was in search of a job and went directly to her little home. She took the umbrella, and her eyes filled with tears.
The teacher wanted to give me a reward, but--though twenty dollars was all I had inside the world--her happiness at retrieving this special possession was such that to have accepted cash would have spoiled some thing. We talked for a while, and I have to have given her my address. I do not don't forget.
The next six months had been wretched. I was able to acquire only temporary employment here and there, for a modest salary. But I put aside twenty-five or fifty cents when I could afford it for my lithe girl's Christmas presents.
My last job ended the day before Christmas, my thirty-dollar rent was soon due, and 1 had fifteen dollars to my name--which Peggy and I would need to have for food.
She was residence from convent boarding school and was excitedly looking forward to her gifs next day, which I had already Bought. I had bough her a little tree, and we had been going to decorate it that night.
The air was full of the sound of Christmas merriment as I walked from the streetcar to my little apartment. Bells rang and youngsters shouted within the bitter dusk of the evening, and windows had been lighted and everyone was running and laughing. But there must be no Christmas for me, I knew, no gifts, no remembrance whatsoever.
As l struggled by way of the snowdrifts, l had just about reached the lowest Point in my life. Unless a miracle happened, I could be homeless in January, foodless, jobless. I had prayed steadily for weeks, and there had been no answer but this coldness and darkness, this harsh air, this abandonment.
God and men had totally forgotten me. I felt so helpless and so lonely. What was to turn out to be of us?
I looked in my mail box. There were only bills in it, a sheaf of them, and two white envelopes which I was certain contained extra bills. I went up 3 dusty flights of stairs and I cried, shivering in my thin coat.
But I made myself smile so I could greet my little daughter having a Pretense of happiness. She opened the door for me and threw herself in my arms, screaming joyously and demanding that we decorate the tree instantly.
Peggy had proudly set our kitchen table for our evening meal and put pans out and three cans of food which would be our dinner. For some reason, when I looked at those pans and cans, I felt brokenhearted. We would have only hamburgers for our Christmas dinner tomorrow.
I stood inside the cold small kitchen, misery overwhelmed me. For the very first time in my life, I doubted the existence and his mercy, as well as the coldness in my heart was colder than ice.
The doorbell rang and Peggy ran fleetly to answer it, calling that it must be Santa Claus. Then I heard a man talking heartily to her and went to the door. He was a delivery man, and his arms had been full of parcels. "This is a mistake," I stated, but he read the name on the parcels and there were for me.
When he had gone I could only stare at the boxes. Peggy and I sat on the floor and opened them. An enormous doll, three times the size of the one I had bought for her. Gloves. Candy. A gorgeous leather purse. Incredible! I looked for the name of the sender. It was the teacher, the address was just "California", where she had moved.
Our dinner the nigh was essentially the most delicious I had ever eaten. I forgot I had no money for the rent and only fifteen dollars in my purse and no job. My child and I ate and laughed together in happiness.
Then we decorated the small tree and marveled at it. I put Peggy to bed and set up her gifts around the tree along with a sweet peace flooded me like a benediction. I had some hope once again. I could even examine the sheaf of bills with out cringing.
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