A Christmas Story
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means
and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely
in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned
the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world
had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me
the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted
a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper was over
I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and
waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry
for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures.
But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I couldn't
figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't
worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas,
now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I
We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that
needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was
not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to
do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat,
and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave
the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the
work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going
to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell.
We never hitched up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside
him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was
on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the
woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had
been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but
whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out
with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from
the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was
he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen
lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before
and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.
Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for
another armload of wood. I followed him.
We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be
able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to
the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He
handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When
he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a
smaller sack of something in his left hand.
"What's in the little sack?" I asked.
"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around
his feet when he was out in the wood-pile this morning. I got the children
a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried
to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards.
Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was
still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split
before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare
that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes
and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer
neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood
as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the
We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around
her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front
of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.
Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the
meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There
was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy shoes, the best,
shoes that would last.
I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling
and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked
up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and
said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fire up
to size and heat this place up."
I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had
a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit it, there were tears
in my eyes too.
In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace
and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks and so
much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled
within me and a joy filled my soul that I'd never known before. I had given
at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.
I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started
giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked
on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time.
She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord
himself has sent you. The children and I have been praying that
he would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up
in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but
after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many
others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when
they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed
that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he
got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave.
Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They
clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their
pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite
you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will
be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he
has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven.
It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been
little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older brothers and
two older sisters were all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen
nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the
Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even
notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt,
I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money
away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't
have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years
back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking
that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning
to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the
woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had
to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those
children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very
well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low
on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the
look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block
of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt
riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle
that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.