I don’t get to say that very often; OK, maybe once a year. However, this year I get to say it more than most people. There’s a reason for that — this time of year I want to make sure there isn’t coal in my stocking. As I sit down watching the little curser dance across the page, I try to say something nice or something funny. But this year the laughs are not as easy to pull out of my, uh, hat.
Many good friends have surprised us by leaving before we realize they won’t be at the next party to make us laugh or to see the new members of our family. I pray that their trip will be smooth and that they will be held close by Our Savior. I had already prayed for their peace.
It is always sad when you are surprised to hear about someone that you love has been called by Our Savior. I was raised by a wonderful mother who taught me lots of things about our savior. OK, I didn’t always follow the teaching that she did, but she had four boys to watch over. I’m sure God welcomed my mom to Heaven. She was the most faithful woman that I ever knew. Her motto was “God said it and I believe it and that settles it.” She would put her hands over her ears when my father had sipped a glass of his home-made comfort. And I cannot, for the life of me, figure out how she could join into any conversation around her four boys and never mutter a word that she would be afraid to say to her God.
We may have had a Christmas that was a little shy of gifts to each other and that never bothered her. We would eat nuts and oranges because those were the sale items that could be purchased from any grocery store. If my dad were to have a good few months before Christmas, he would call us boys into the living room where he would give us a couple of dollars and a ride into Guadalupe, where we would look for the cheapest item we could find for my mom and dad. This would always be a Case Pocket Knife because he said they were the best knives made for the money spent.
You might, if you are reading this, think that we didn’t get our mom any Christmas gifts. Well, you would be wrong. You see, my dad would give us a few dollars that he had held from the money we earned picking beans for a local grower. We were old enough to work in the fields, so mom would bundle us into the pickup and drive us to the fields. She would take charge of the slips of paper that were given to the bushel we had picked. Then she would give them to dad because he was the man of the house and controlled the money we earned.
If you have been reading my writings for awhile, you know that money was tight. But at Christmas we always had oranges and nuts to eat; they were passed out to each of us. We usually knew that we would get one pair of jeans. That’s when mom would talk to all of us about sharing. My dad’s job gave us a house to live in, but it was pretty bad. I’m sure I have told you about the rats that lived in the attic, so I won’t repeat myself. I think this might be a good time to tell you about how my mom taught us about sharing.
My mom would wash the jeans that we had and keep each pair clean and put away. As we grew, we would pass these jeans over to the next brother until they were worn out, sometimes with holes. Then we handed them back to mom and she would work her magic. On her Singer Treadle Sewing Machine, she made sure that they were clean and put back together. She then asked each of us to give one pair to the friend who needed the jeans more than anyone else. It would be easy to tell you that we were doing this because of our mother, but the truth is we all had jeans that someone had outgrown, so it was never thought of as a gift. We simply had jeans the other kids didn’t have.
Freddie and his family needed whatever we had that we didn’t need. I remember the days Freddie would walk home with me, and my mom would find some clothing at a rummage sale in Santa Maria. These were days that I spent with my mom knowing that we were going to a rummage, where there might be some clothing that was a good fit for Freddie. My mom almost never threw anything away. She would wash and repair anything she found if she thought someone else might use it. Freddie was cool about taking anything from me. We were all farm labor workers and mom would search to find anything that might fit Freddie or her boys. I didn’t truly know what a rummage sale was, I just had a good time if there were any comic books.
This time of year I think of Freddie, my mom, dad and brothers. As we all run around buying the perfect gift, remember why we celebrate. There are so many who have little. But what I remember the most is what mom taught me about sharing. I might not have understood it back then and she might not have known what she had taught me. Giving is much better than receiving. Look out for your neighbor. Help if you can. I think we all have learned that some who have the least are always the ones who give the most. I hope that you and your family have a Blessed Christmas and I hope to see you in the New Year.
God Bless.
