The Magic of CHRISTMAS

For the holiday season, these stories convey a spirit worth cherishing

Gifts from Their Hearts

By Charlene Elizabeth Baltimore

From the reminisce book LIFE IN AMERICA

It was Christmas Eve 1949. I was 15 and feeling sad because there was not enough money to buy the dress I wanted. We did the chores early that night, so I figured Pa wanted extra time for us to read the Bible.

After supper, I took off my boots, stretched out by the fireplace, and waited for Pa to start reading. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, wasn’t in much of a mood to listen to the Scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible; instead, he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn’t figure it out—we had already done all the chores.

It was a cold, clear night, and there was ice in Pa’s beard when he came back in. “Come on, Elizabeth,” he said. “Bundle up. It’s cold out.”

I was upset. Not only wasn’t I getting the dress; now Pa was dragging me out in the cold. I put on my coat and boots, and Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door. Something was up.

Outside, I became even more dis­mayed. There, in front of the house, was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever we were going to do wasn’t going to be a quick job.

I reluctantly climbed up beside Pa, the cold already biting at me. We pulled in front of the woodshed, put on the high sideboards, and started loading wood—the wood we’d spent all summer hauling down from the mountain and all autumn sawing into blocks and splitting.

Finally I asked, “Pa, what are you doing?”

“Have you been by the widow Clark’s lately?” he asked.

Mrs Clark lived about three kilometers down the road from us. Her husband had passed away the year before, leaving her with three children to raise on her own.