The Real Meaning of Christmas

OK, so I’m pretty sappy today. Here is another Christmas article I ran across that is worth sharing.

The Real Meaning of Christmas
A gift of kindness

When I was visiting my sister in North Carolina this Thanksgiving, we began to discuss the commercialization of the Christmas holiday. This is a subject perennially dissected by pundits in the media this time of year, but nothing ever really seems to change. We talked about how neither of us (unlike countless people in many parts of the world) really needs anything, and how difficult it is to buy presents for others who don’t really need anything, either. The discussion brought to my sister’s mind a Christmas over 25 years ago when the true spirit of the season came to life for her. It was a Christmas she received a gift that embodied the charity and compassion that I hope this holiday season will kindle in all our hearts.

She was young and in love. She and her boyfriend were in graduate school and it was Christmas day. They left New Haven, Connecticut, intending to reach Cleveland, Ohio that evening. Her boyfriend’s mother lived in Cleveland and it was the first time my sister would meet his family. The trip turned out to be treacherous. As noon approached, a fierce snowstorm had blown into the region, which almost blinded their view of the road ahead. It was difficult to even see the exit signs, and if they made the decision to exit the interstate, they feared they might be stranded in an isolated area. My sister had been very anxious about the trip to begin with, not realizing that this man would later become her husband, and her nervousness at meeting his mother for the first time was paralyzing. Since even pulling the car over was a bad idea, that afternoon she had to undergo the humiliation of crouching in the back seat with a paper cup rather than braving the elements to “tinkle” outside the car.

They hadn’t eaten a thing all day, and as they struggled to see the road ahead her hunger began to consume her thoughts. It was so cold that the heat from the headlights didn’t melt the frigid flakes as they hit the headlamp covers, and my future brother-in-law had to periodically get out and scrape the ice from the headlights for added illumination of the white highway ahead. As night approached, they finally saw an oasis in the frozen desert –a sign announcing that Mr. Howard Johnson had seen fit to build a refuge off the next exit. So they stopped to eat at the welcoming orange and turquoise “Motor Lodge.” When my sister entered the motel, she was excited beyond words. She had not eaten in many hours. Then her heart stopped as she read the sign just outside the dining room: “Dining Room OPEN 24 hours a day every day of the year except Christmas Day.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she found the desk clerk to ask whether they had anything … a snack machine … a gum machine … anything at all to eat in the place. No, the woman replied, there isn’t any food anywhere. And my sister finally cried. The stresses of the day had combined to put her over her emotional edge. She thanked the woman, used the restroom and returned to the car, where she wept silently in the front seat as they drove away. Once they were back on the interstate, her future husband handed her a crumpled paper bag. “What’s this?” my sister asked. “I don’t know,” he replied. “When you were in the bathroom at the Howard Johnson’s, the lady at the desk handed it to me, but told me not to try to give it to you until we were back on the highway because she knew you might not accept it.”

Inside the bag, neatly wrapped in waxed paper, was a ham sandwich on white bread. It was the woman’s own dinner, which she had obviously packed for herself and brought from home. You see, on that Christmas evening a total stranger went hungry because she could not bear to see my sister cry. A plain ham sandwich. It wasn’t the most expensive or beautiful present my sister ever received, but it was one of the few presents she would remember for 25 years. She will likely remember this special gift for the rest of her life.

This Christmas season, I hope we can keep a special watch for the family, friends and strangers we see each day who are traveling along the tangled and dangerous highway we call life. People who might be hungry for our compassion, our forgiveness or for just an extra moment of our time. Let’s think about what we might give them that doesn’t involve bows or wrapping paper or standing in line at the mall. A gift that comes from the heart rather than from the pocketbook.

Sometimes something as simple as a plain ham sandwich is the best gift of all.

The author, April A. Cain, formerly practiced law before becoming a full-time mother. You can see this post here. Other posts by Ms. Cain are available here.