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 It all began
because Mike hated Christmas—oh, not the true meaning of Christmas,
but the commercialism and overspending; the frantic running around
at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and bubble bath for
Grandma; the gifts given in desperation because you could not think
of anything else.
Knowing he felt
this way, his wife decided one year to bypass the usual shirts,
sweaters, ties and so forth. She reached for something special just
for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Their young son
Kevin was wrestling for the school he attended. Shortly before
Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by
an inner-city church, mostly African-American kids. These
youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that the shoestrings
seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presenting a
sharp contrast to Kevin’s team in their spiffy blue and gold
uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match
began, Kevin’s folks were alarmed to see that the other team was
wrestling without headgear, a helmet designed to protect a
wrestler’s ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could
not afford. Well, the better-equipped team ended up walloping their
poorer opponents in every weight class.
Mike shook his
head sadly and said to his wife, “I wish just one of them could have
won. Losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”
Mike loved kids –
all kids. He had coached just about every sport for kids. That is
when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, Mike’s wife
went to the local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of
wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the
inner-city church.
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On Christmas Eve, she placed the envelope on the tree, the note
inside telling Mike what had been done and that this was his gift
from her. First there were tears. Then the biggest smile Mike had
ever worn. Every year at Christmas Mike’s wife followed the
tradition – one year sending a group of mentally handicapped
youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a family whose
home had burned to the ground, and on and on. The envelope became
the highlight of their Christmas. It was always the last thing
opened on Christmas morning and the 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 envelope never lost its allure. But there’s still more to
the story.
You see, they lost Mike a couple of years ago – cancer. When
Christmas rolled around, his wife was still so wrapped in grief that
she barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found her placing on
envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three
more. Each of their sons, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an
envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown as now
grandchildren with wide-eyed anticipation watch as their fathers
take down the envelope.
“This is pure undefiled religion in the sight of our God and
Father, to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and keep
oneself unstained by the world.” (James 1:27)
[Text from file received by Ron Otto, Lincoln Christian Church]
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