We have a few Christmas traditions. Some have come from our families and some we've made up along the way.
Tradition 1: Usually, we set up the Christmas decor the Friday after Thanksgiving. Nope... went early this year. Tradition 1, disregarded.
Tradition 2: Take Ramsey shopping for a couple of new Christmas ornaments. Check! Hobby Lobby... thank you, once again. :-)
Tradition 3: Pizza for Christmas Eve (so we can hurry up and open gifts without a lot of clean-up!). This one should hold up.
The list goes on....
New tradition: The White Envelope.
I'd read a Facebook post last year that hit me like a ton of bricks and made my heart open wide with delight and some sorrow. The post was taken from an article that won a prize back in a women's magazine in the early 1980's. I loved it.
After reading it last year, I asked my friend Sarah, who sews and sells wonderful and fun items in her Etsy shop (pillowcases, masks, make-up bags, etc), to make me a white envelope from fabric... that we could use every single year. She adorned it with cute red trim and used sweet-looking white cotton with Christmas lights.
"FOR THE MAN
WHO HATED CHRISTMAS" by Nancy Gavin
It’s 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 or so.
It all began
because my husband Mike hated Christmas–oh, not the true meaning of Christmas,
but the commercial aspects of it–overspending… the frantic running around at
the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for
Grandma—the 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 wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended;
and 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 blue and gold uniforms
and sparkling 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
ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We
took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he
swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that
couldn’t acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside
me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said.
“They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right
out of them.” Mike loved kids – all kids – and he knew them, having coached
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 the envelope on the tree, the
note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in 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 on and on.
“On Christmas Eve, I placed the
envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that
this was his gift from me.”
The
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.
As the
children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope
never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there.
You see,
we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I
was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve
found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by
three more.
Each of
our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for
their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with
our grandchildren standing to take down the envelope.
Mike’s
spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us."
See? Wasn't that... sniff sniff... beautiful?
Every year, we do give to charities.... to our church, to the women's shelter, we add money into the red pots where bell-ringers for the Salvation Army post up, etc. But, from now on, we will have one extra special noted gift, tucked in the white envelope. This year, I let it slip and it won't be a surprise to Eric or Ramsey (will be to Connor though). Next year... the special gift inside WILL be a secret until we open gifts on Christmas Eve.
Christmastime is the season of giving... not just to those that we are close to and love with all of our hearts. It's also about giving to others... sometimes complete strangers... those who are less fortunate than we are... some who face special challenges in life... to our first responders and those who help others every day. Christmas is another blissful excuse to share part of ourselves - part of our hearts - to our fellow citizens, and make our hearts fill with gladness.
Merry Christmas!
Update (post-Christmas):
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