Giving to others was a meaningful Christmas tradition in my family when I was a child. It was during The Great Depression, and my father was one of those fortunate people that had a job. We were not monetarily rich by any stretch of the imagination; but in comparison to so many others at that time, my dad’s skilled blue collar job kept food on our table and allowed us a few extra things that a lot of other people had to do without. Dad loved helping people; and every single payday (not just at Christmas), I would watch him take five dollars out of his pay envelope, seal it in a mailing envelope, and send it anonymously to someone in need.
Like most nine-year olds, I loved the familiar sights and smells of Christmas and thoughts of receiving brightly-wrapped packages “danced in my head.” I smiled as I penciled in at the top of my list of things I was hoping to get…..a beautiful white fur muff (like a purse but with openings on each side to slip your hands in to keep them warm) and, of course, my usual request for a puppy—the puppy was on my list every year, but my wish was never granted because my mother was a very tough customer, and I always failed to make the sale. Still, no harm in trying again. My joy in anticipation of the coming events was interrupted by an unexpected statement and question by my mom. She told me that she and my dad would very much like to buy some gifts for some less fortunate children at an orphanage and asked if I would be willing to give up receiving my presents this year in order to help them do this. My heart sank, but I tried to smile through my tears, still not understanding why these children deserved gifts more than I did—after all, I was a kid, too. However, I agreed, because I did not want to disappoint my folks and in even in my young heart of hearts, I knew that I should be willing. With a twinge of conscience and sympathy, I wondered what it would be like to need food and clothing and not have parents to care for me, and I knew that it was the right thing to do.
The appointed day for shopping came, but first, my mother wanted to visit a neighbor who (for 20 years) had faithfully prepared Christmas dinner for the children at the orphanage. I sat in her rocking chair as she recalled wonderful stories from her years of service. “Giving doesn’t always come naturally,” she said, (oh boy, wasn’t that the truth) “but we can ask God for help. Just remember that the Lord always provides—we are just His servants.”
Then my dad arrived with the car, and I hopped in. “I have a special job for you,” he said, "are you ready to 
go shopping?” and he produced a list of children’s names and sizes. I began my shopping experience down the store aisles, but stopped abruptly in front of a counter displaying the muff that I so desperately wanted and that was even softer than I had remembered.
Remembering our neighbor’s words, I clenched my eyelids closed and prayed. “I want to be your servant, Jesus, but I still want this gift for myself.” Then I heard the gentle voice of Jesus, “Are you ready to be My servant?” “Yes, I am,” I answered. His reply came quickly, “Then do it.” Still clutching the muff, I gathered up my emotions and asked, “Dad, could we buy this beautiful muff for one of the little girls—I know she would love it, and besides being beautiful, it would keep her hands warm.” Wiping away what I believe was a tear, he put his arms around me, and we put the beautiful muff in the shopping cart together.
Later, I helped my mom wrap the children’s gifts in colorful paper—the muff received special attention...a blue tag with angels decorating its border. In the center, I printed the name “Annette” from the list., and added some sparkles.
On Christmas Eve I visited the orphanage with my parents—and I will always remember how the children’s faces glowed with excitement. The celebration program was lovely—a group children enacted the Christmas story, complete with a live sheep and a donkey, and we all sang carols. When all the children were seated, the gift presentations began.
I held onto my special gift and looked for its recipient. Wading through mounds of discarded paper and boxes I spotted a little girl sitting alone near the Christmas tree. “Annette?” I asked. She looked up timidly; and with a burst of enthusiasm, I extended the package bearing the beautiful muff to her. She opened the package and gazed at it in disbelief. Then, with her tiny arms, she reached up and hugged me. A smile graced her face as she stroked the warm fur. “Thank you,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling with gratitude. “How did you ever know that I secretly wanted one of these but never dared to think that I would get it?” “God knew,” I replied. “I’m just His servant.”
That was many years ago, but I will never forget the feeling I had after delivering that gift and learning for myself that it truly is “more blessed to give than to receive.” (Acts 20:35)
Children are never too young to understand the value of giving. Take time this Christmas to share this important lesson with your family.
P. S. I actually got the puppy that year, (a sweet, spotted Dalmatian I named “Chief”), and he brought me joy and loving companionship for another ten years. Apparently, God rewarded His “servant,” and softened my mom’s heart.
