Walkin' in a winter wonderland! It really is up to my knee. It is just beautiful beyond belief. Many places measured 22 inches and it all came in just one day.
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It 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 fanatic running around at the last minute to get gifts given in desperation because you can't think of anything else, etc. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, and ties for Mike. I reached for something special just for him. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son, Kevin, who was twelve that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters on the opposing team, mostly minorities, were dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together. They presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the boys on the other team were 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 the other team's 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 next to 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 and he knew them from having coached little league teams. 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 with a 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 thereafter I followed the tradition. One year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game. Another year sending a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas. And on and on, all anonymously. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning. 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 older, 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 several years ago to cancer. When Christmas rolled around that year, 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. In the morning, it had been joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. In each envelope was a note describing a gift made anonymously to someone less fortunate. That tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation---watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May we all remember Jesus Christ, who is the reason for the season, and may we always have and share the true Christmas spirit.
During our move a piece of furniture we really enjoy the Robert Entertainment Center was too big to fit into the elevator. The movers tried 3 times, broke the lens over the light in the elevator and he just couldn't go. A guy we hired from the ward assured us that we could carry it up the 60 steps and he and his brother would help us. (Since then he got a horrible virus was hospitalized and his brother broke his foot in a car accident.) We put him back in the storage unit and said maybe someday. The more we unpacked we realized we needed him for storage not just for his beauty. So after LaVar did some calculations he figured out just how to get him into our condo and up the steps. He called "2 Marines and a Truck" and we hired 4 Marines and 2 trucks. I was so anxious for some reason. I told LaVar I wish it would just magically appear in his place. The day of the move it was raining just a little bit. We met the Marines at the storage unit, they wrapped Robert like he was going across the country, and to the condo we went all of about 4 blocks . The back door to the building was held open with a penny, never had seen that done before. They made all the turns, it was tight very very tight, but LaVar had analyzed it and said it would go....it did!!
I took the elevator to open the condo door and grab a camera, by the time I did that they were at the 3rd floor and panting, huffing and puffing. I snapped a picture......
