Beautiful Letter to Read

[Guest guest]

The Christmas Envelope (Unknown Author)

> > > It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the

> > > branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no

> > > identification, no inscription. It has peeked

> > > through

> > > the branches of our tree for the past 10 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 frantic

> > > running around at the last minute to get a tie for

> > > Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma --

> > > the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't

> > > think of anything else.

> > > > Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to

> > > bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so

> > > forth.

> > > I reached for something special just for Mike. The

> > > inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son ,

> > > who

> > > was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level

> > > at

> > > the school he attended, and shortly before

> > > Christmas,

> > > there was a non-league match against a team

> > > sponsored

> > > by an inner-city church, mostly black. These

> > > youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that

> > > shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them

> > > together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in

> > > their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling

> > > new

> > > wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed

> > > to

> > > see that the other team was 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, taking every

> > > weight class. As each of their 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 beside 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-all kids-and he knew them, having coached

> > > little league football, baseball and lacrosse.

> > > 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, the 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, I followed the

> > > tradition -- one year sending a group of mentally

> > > handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another

> > > year

> > > a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had

> > > burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and

> > > on

> > > and on. The envelope became the highlight of our

> > > Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on

> > > Christmas morning and 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, 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 last year due to dreaded

> > > cancer. When Christmas rolled around, 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, and in the morning, it was joined by three

> > > more.

> > > Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had

> > > placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The

> > > 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 Christ, who is the reason for

> > > the

> > > season, and the true Christmas spirit.

Carol Applin