A close friend of Scott's and mine, Major Nickerson shared this story on his blog and on his facebook. Major Nickerson has such a gift for making me sit and ponder all the blessings in my life through his words. I thought I would share his story on mine. Don't forget to thank God for all of the blessings in your life.....
A Little Christmas Warmth
A friend of mine recently posted a Facebook status that asked "What 'little things' put you in the Christmas Spirit?" After the typical smart alec answers flashed into my head, a random item popped up. "Wood burning stove". I stopped and wondered where the heck it came from. Then, I remembered.
When I was seventeen, I volunteered to participate in a Christmas delivery program. We met at a high school gymnasium and gathered donated food and toys and loaded them up into cars. We were handed a route with a list of families and were told what to take to each. My friends and I were going to hang out, horse around, and be able to say we did something interesting during the past weekend, though I realize now that the day had a profound impact on me.
We had gone all over the county delivering much-appreciated food to families that didn't look all that different from our own yet were down on their luck as evidenced by their living conditions. One family was gathered in a trailer and in the living room stood a hospital bed where grandpa slept. They smiled but asked us to please be quiet. Being quiet was not a problem. The atmosphere in the car we rode in quickly went from jovial, or what my Dad would describe as "playin' grabass", to somber and introspective. The day taught us a lot about life. Real life.
The last stop was out in the country. Within an opening surrounded by trees stood a small cabin with smoke billowing from a chimney. One of my best friends and I went into the trunk and pulled out the toys and food and marched onto the porch and knocked on the door. I remember expecting grandpa from Hee-Haw to answer, but was surprised to see a young man maybe a few years older than me. He barely opened the door and then quickly ushered us in. Behind him was a pregnant young woman--his wife--with a little girl curled around her leg. They stared at us with slightly embarrassed smiles and apologized that they didn't have any place for us to sit. There was only one room that I was aware of with a small kitchenette in the corner. There was no television that I could see, just a couch that looked very used.
We spoke our often repeated chorus of "Merry Christmas" and "Glad we could get out here with the weather and all," but we could hardly hide the sympathy in our voices during this delivery. It made the experience that much more uncomfortable. Their relatively young appearance only added to the awkward feelings in the room. I don't remember the young couple saying much at all to us as we prepared to leave as quick as we could, but I remember what the husband said right before he opened the door to let us out. "I'm sorry I rushed you all in. I probably won't walk you out, but that's not because I don't appreciate what you're doing. I just don't want to lose the heat. This wood stove's about all we got." I took in the wood-burning stove cooking in the corner of the room and smiled at the little girl waving goodbye from behind her mother's leg. We waved back.
I'm sure we all grew up a little bit that day. Christmas had always been a day a day off of school, a new toy, new clothes, the latest gadget. That little bit of community service during the holiday season, though, taught me that our abundance is fleeting and we should never take it for granted. That young family didn't have much, but they had each other and a warm home to share each other's love and company. For the rest of my life, a wood-burning stove will remind me of Christmas and the importance of sharing it in the warmth and comfort of our family's love.
When I was seventeen, I volunteered to participate in a Christmas delivery program. We met at a high school gymnasium and gathered donated food and toys and loaded them up into cars. We were handed a route with a list of families and were told what to take to each. My friends and I were going to hang out, horse around, and be able to say we did something interesting during the past weekend, though I realize now that the day had a profound impact on me.
We had gone all over the county delivering much-appreciated food to families that didn't look all that different from our own yet were down on their luck as evidenced by their living conditions. One family was gathered in a trailer and in the living room stood a hospital bed where grandpa slept. They smiled but asked us to please be quiet. Being quiet was not a problem. The atmosphere in the car we rode in quickly went from jovial, or what my Dad would describe as "playin' grabass", to somber and introspective. The day taught us a lot about life. Real life.
The last stop was out in the country. Within an opening surrounded by trees stood a small cabin with smoke billowing from a chimney. One of my best friends and I went into the trunk and pulled out the toys and food and marched onto the porch and knocked on the door. I remember expecting grandpa from Hee-Haw to answer, but was surprised to see a young man maybe a few years older than me. He barely opened the door and then quickly ushered us in. Behind him was a pregnant young woman--his wife--with a little girl curled around her leg. They stared at us with slightly embarrassed smiles and apologized that they didn't have any place for us to sit. There was only one room that I was aware of with a small kitchenette in the corner. There was no television that I could see, just a couch that looked very used.
We spoke our often repeated chorus of "Merry Christmas" and "Glad we could get out here with the weather and all," but we could hardly hide the sympathy in our voices during this delivery. It made the experience that much more uncomfortable. Their relatively young appearance only added to the awkward feelings in the room. I don't remember the young couple saying much at all to us as we prepared to leave as quick as we could, but I remember what the husband said right before he opened the door to let us out. "I'm sorry I rushed you all in. I probably won't walk you out, but that's not because I don't appreciate what you're doing. I just don't want to lose the heat. This wood stove's about all we got." I took in the wood-burning stove cooking in the corner of the room and smiled at the little girl waving goodbye from behind her mother's leg. We waved back.
I'm sure we all grew up a little bit that day. Christmas had always been a day a day off of school, a new toy, new clothes, the latest gadget. That little bit of community service during the holiday season, though, taught me that our abundance is fleeting and we should never take it for granted. That young family didn't have much, but they had each other and a warm home to share each other's love and company. For the rest of my life, a wood-burning stove will remind me of Christmas and the importance of sharing it in the warmth and comfort of our family's love.
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