‘Tis the Season to be Gracious
I love the Christmas season – the lights, the music, the presents! Every time I hear “Let It Snow,” I picture myself curled up in front of the fireplace with a thick, fluffy carpet beneath my body, book in one hand, latte in the other, Addie playing with her blocks, and Kendra snuggled next to me. We don’t even have a fireplace, nor do I want one, but the idyllic image painted by the song represents everything wonderful about Christmas – the peaceful mulberry sky and magical silence that comes with an evening snowfall, a fire providing warm protection from the elements, and time spent with loved ones.
However, not everyone loves Christmas, and I’ll be the first to admit the essential meaning of the celebration seems to have been lost over the years. What was once the season of giving has evolved into the commercialization of the spirit of Christmastime. Santa now has an Elf that sits on your shelf to make sure you are good! There are secret Santa exchanges at work, Yankee swaps, and more. How we give, what we give, and to whom we give it, can cause hurt feelings, or worse.
With this in mind, Kendra and I want to teach Addison that there is more to Christmas than the presents she unwraps. We want to instill in her the joy of giving. It feels good to give – to make someone’s day brighter or lighten their load. Mother Teresa once said, “It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.” As a child, I never really understood how my mom claimed to love everything my siblings and I made for her. Now that we have Addie, I completely understand the beauty of a gift born from the heart.
Christmas is a beautiful time when you can express your love in thoughtful, meaningful ways – not just through presents, but by acts of kindness toward others. A smile at a stranger, or a kind word to someone who seems down, are small gifts that are easy to give, yet can mean so much. With this in mind, we are putting more emphasis on the gifts Addie will help us give, rather than the ones she will receive, this Christmas.
A few weekends ago in church, guest storyteller, Lani Peterson, performed a beautiful tale about the importance of graciousness when both giving and receiving gifts. Kendra and I were both touched by the story, and it really underscores what we hope to teach Addie about the tradition of presents during Christmas. This is an abridged version:
Merry Christmas, Artie by Richard White
Today, I suppose, Artie would be classified as “educable,” or mildly retarded. We said he was dumb. Artie was about three years older and at least a head taller than the rest of us in fourth grade. He was one of a large family, motherless, and growing up in that troubled fourth decade of the last century. His pa was a hardworking man. An older sister kept house as best as she could.
Artie was not handsome. His skin was of a pasty hue and his great ears stood out starkly from his cropped skull. Hands like shovels and thick wrists that hung inches below frayed cuffs. His trousers barely met the top of sagging socks. His enormous feet were encased in sadly broken shoes inadequately insulated against the cold by cereal box tops as inner soles.
Artie was a gentle boy. There was not a molecule of meanness in his whole, awkward frame. And we tolerated him.
Christmas was a wonderful influence in our small world. On the last day before Christmas recess, we exchanged gifts in the classroom and drew lots to see which pupil would take home the classroom Christmas tree. Back then a real live tree in a bright red wooden tub was enshrined in every classroom. And before we left for vacation the teacher would pull a name out of a hat and the fortunate owner of that name would win the tree. What puzzled me for years was the wondrous luck that unfailingly dredged up the name of the poorest child. Sort of a miracle.
That year I hoped to draw the name of a certain apple-cheeked vision in braids. In went my paw, and out came… Artie. I was not pleased.
Christmas shopping was a major event in my family. We were doled out 50 cents for each present we were to buy. Fifty cents had clout in those days, and it was great fun to forage among the heaped up treasures in stores where tops, yo-yos and toy soldiers were all within our power to buy.
“What’re ya gonna buy Artie?” my little brother, Donnie, asked me, as we stood dazed and longing before a display of electric trains.
“I think I’ll get him a train,” I said. “Ha, ha!”
But I did get him a train made of cast iron, suitable only for a baby to swallow, or a small boy to push among the breadcrumbs on the kitchen table.
The day before vacation came at last. We sang, “Silent Night,” and swapped gifts. When Artie opened his present, he made such a fuss, hollering, “Hey Richard! Thank you for the wonderful train. I love it!” I was so embarrassed to be associated with the pitiful gift, and I felt ashamed for having spent so little and keeping the change for myself.
On Christmas morning my brother and I, still in our nightshirts, scampered downstairs on naked feet. Having aroused our parents, we surrounded the magical tree and tore into the pile presents.
I barely grunted over the things I needed – a shirt, a tie, a belt, socks; and fairly crowed over the things I wanted – a knife, a flashlight, skates and a half dozen recruits for my regimen of iron soldiers.
Then I picked up a tiny package tagged, “To Dick from Donnie.” I opened it in hot-eyed greed and found… an exact duplicate of the little toy train I’d given to Artie.
“Ah, for cryin’ out loud,” I said, eyeing the silly toy with disdain. “What am I suppose to do with that?”
Donnie, his eyes brimming with tears, said, “I got it for you because I thought you liked it when you got it for Artie.”
I felt my face go hot with shame. I had that much grace, at least. But the glow was gone for Christmas and I was left to contemplate a most unflattering picture of myself.
From where I sit now I can glimpse atop a bookcase a tiny scratched and tarnished engine, all that survives of my brother’s effort to share his Christmas joy with me.
For all the effort parents put into teaching their children about the beauty of giving, we often neglect to teach them about receiving.
“Gracious acceptance is an art – an art which most never bother to cultivate. We think that we have to learn how to give, but we forget about accepting things, which can be much harder than giving…. Accepting another person’s gift is allowing him to express his feelings for you.”
― Alexander McCall Smith
I learned the lesson of being a gracious recipient when I was in college. All I wanted for Christmas was silver hoop earrings. (It’s a lesbian thing.) I asked for them for Christmas, and when I opened my gift from my sister and saw three sets of silver hoop earrings that were all bigger than I had envisioned, I pouted. Instead of saying thank you, I pitched a fit, lamenting that no one in my family knew me well enough to get me what I wanted. I am not sure why my sister didn’t just deck me for being so ungrateful – she should have. It didn’t take me long to feel ashamed for my actions – and I, like Richard, learned an important lesson that day – how to accept a gift with graciousness. Instead of being thankful for the thought my sister had put into the gift, the time she had taken to buy and wrap it, and the fact that she had gotten me a present at all, I stomped on her excitement, snuffing out the joy she felt by giving me a gift she picked out just for me.
So this Christmas, in addition to teaching Addie about the joy of giving, I hope we can begin to teach her the importance of being grateful for any presents that come her way – that there is more to a gift than just the fancy wrapping paper in which it is encased. Though not visible to naked eye, each present is enveloped in love and thoughtfulness, which is even more precious than the gift itself.
Merry Christmas!
