Having woken up to a completely shoveled driveway, I have some time "for
the season"... posted in appreciation of that anonymous neighbor, and the
other quiet doers of actual good found in all corners of RMD.
Merry Christmas.
A Christmas Story - The Rifle
By Rian B. Anderson
(Originally posted by Burt Lamborn)
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were
genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him
that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from
receiving.
It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy
me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper
was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace
and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for
myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures.
But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I
couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't
worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for
Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly
reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't
think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like
this.
But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd
told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my
cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door
to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what. Outside, I
became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team,
already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't
going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up
the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was
on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the
woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a
bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but
whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high
sideboards on.
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came out
with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from
the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was
he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived
about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and
left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by,
but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That
was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for
another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I
began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.
Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house
and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and
told me to put them in the sled and wait.
When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder
and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little
sack?" I asked. ?"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny
sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning.
I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas
without a little candy."
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to
think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards.
Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was
still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split
before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that,
but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and
candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?
Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our
concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded
the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes
to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said,
"Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow
Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her
shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front
of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.
Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you
a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the
meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There
was a pair for her and one for each of the children sturdy shoes, the best,
shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to
keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running
down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but
it wouldn't come out.
"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and
said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fir up
to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back
out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I hate
to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing
those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing
there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her heart
that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my
soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times
before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were
literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started
giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked
on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. ?She
finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself
has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one
of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up
in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but
after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and
many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. ?Then
I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make
sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face
again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms
and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could
see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey
will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous
if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about
eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here,
hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older
brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to say,
"'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on the
sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice
the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want
you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away
here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't
have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from
years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited,
thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this
morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching
in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what
I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for
those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very
well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very low
on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the
look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I
felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a
rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
--
Mike W.
96 XR400
70 CT70
71 KG 100 (Hodaka-powered)
99 KZ1000P (training)
99 KZ1000P (rider)
00 Beta Rev-3
> Having woken up to a completely shoveled driveway, I have some time "for
> the season"... posted in appreciation of that anonymous neighbor, and the
> other quiet doers of actual good found in all corners of RMD.
> Merry Christmas.
> A Christmas Story - The Rifle
> By Rian B. Anderson
> (Originally posted by Burt Lamborn)
> Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
> means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
> were
> genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him
> that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from
> receiving.
> It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
> world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
> buy
> me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
> We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
> wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper
> was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace
> and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for
> myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures.
> But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I
> couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
> didn't
> worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
> Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
> his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
> tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for
> Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly
> reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't
> think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like
> this.
> But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd
> told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my
> cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door
> to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what. Outside, I
> became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team,
> already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do
> wasn't
> going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up
> the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
> Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
> beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was
> on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the
> woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
> sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a
> bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but
> whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high
> sideboards on.
> When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
> out
> with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from
> the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was
> he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
> " You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived
> about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before
> and
> left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by,
> but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
> "I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
> the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That
> was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for
> another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I
> began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.
> Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house
> and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and
> told me to put them in the sled and wait.
> When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder
> and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little
> sack?" I asked. ?"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny
> sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this
> morning.
> I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas
> without a little candy."
> We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to
> think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards.
> Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now
> was
> still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split
> before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare
> that,
> but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and
> candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?
> Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our
> concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded
> the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes
> to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said,
> "Who is it?"
> "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow
> Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her
> shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front
> of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at
> all.
> Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
> you
> a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the
> meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
> She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There
> was a pair for her and one for each of the children sturdy shoes, the
> best,
> shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to
> keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running
> down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but
> it wouldn't come out.
> "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and
> said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fir up
> to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back
> out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I
> hate
> to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing
> those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing
> there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her
> heart
> that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my
> soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times
> before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were
> literally saving the lives of these people.
> I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
> started
> giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked
> on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time.
> ?She
> finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself
> has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one
> of his angels to spare us."
> In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up
> in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but
> after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
> was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
> remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and
> many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
> Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
> when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. ?Then
> I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would
> make
> sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face
> again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms
> and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could
> see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
> At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
> invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey
> will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous
> if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about
> eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here,
> hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older
> brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away.
> Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to
> say,
> "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on the
> sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice
> the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want
> you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money
> away
> here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't
> have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from
> years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real
> excited,
> thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town
> this
> morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching
> in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what
> I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for
> those children. I hope you understand."
> I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very
> well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very
> low
> on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the
> look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
> For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
> block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I
> felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a
> rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
> --
> Mike W.
> 96 XR400
> 70 CT70
> 71 KG 100 (Hodaka-powered)
> 99 KZ1000P (training)
> 99 KZ1000P (rider)
> 00 Beta Rev-3
Thank you for the annual treat Mike....Christmas Season is now officially
open at rmd!
KW
XML Sitemap
> the season"... posted in appreciation of that anonymous neighbor, and the
> other quiet doers of actual good found in all corners of RMD.
> Merry Christmas.
> A Christmas Story - The Rifle
> By Rian B. Anderson
> (Originally posted by Burt Lamborn)
> Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their
> means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who
> were
> genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him
> that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from
> receiving.
> It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the
> world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to
> buy
> me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that year for Christmas.
> We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa
> wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible. So after supper
> was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace
> and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for
> myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read scriptures.
> But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up and went outside. I
> couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I
> didn't
> worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
> Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in
> his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out
> tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for
> Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly
> reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't
> think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like
> this.
> But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd
> told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my
> cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door
> to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what. Outside, I
> became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team,
> already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do
> wasn't
> going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up
> the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
> Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
> beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was
> on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the
> woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high
> sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a
> bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but
> whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high
> sideboards on.
> When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into the woodshed and came
> out
> with an armload of wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from
> the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was
> he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
> " You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived
> about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before
> and
> left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by,
> but so what? "Yeah," I said, "why?"
> "I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in
> the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That
> was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for
> another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I
> began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.
> Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house
> and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and
> told me to put them in the sled and wait.
> When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder
> and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little
> sack?" I asked. ?"Shoes. They're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny
> sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this
> morning.
> I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas
> without a little candy."
> We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to
> think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards.
> Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now
> was
> still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split
> before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare
> that,
> but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and
> candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?
> Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us. It shouldn't have been our
> concern. We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded
> the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes
> to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said,
> "Who is it?"
> "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?" Widow
> Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her
> shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front
> of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at
> all.
> Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought
> you
> a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the
> meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
> She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There
> was a pair for her and one for each of the children sturdy shoes, the
> best,
> shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to
> keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running
> down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but
> it wouldn't come out.
> "We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and
> said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for awhile. Let's get that fir up
> to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back
> out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and, much as I
> hate
> to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing
> those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing
> there with tears running down her cheeks and so much gratitude in her
> heart
> that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy filled my
> soul that I'd never known before. I had given at Christmas many times
> before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were
> literally saving the lives of these people.
> I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids
> started
> giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked
> on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time.
> ?She
> finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord himself
> has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one
> of his angels to spare us."
> In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up
> in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but
> after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I
> was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started
> remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and
> many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
> Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed
> when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. ?Then
> I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would
> make
> sure he got the right sizes. Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face
> again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms
> and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could
> see that they missed their pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
> At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
> invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey
> will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous
> if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about
> eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here,
> hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older
> brothers and two older sisters were all married and had moved away.
> Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to
> say,
> "'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain that He will." Out on the
> sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice
> the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want
> you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money
> away
> here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't
> have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from
> years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real
> excited,
> thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town
> this
> morning to do just that. But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching
> in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what
> I had to do. So, Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for
> those children. I hope you understand."
> I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very
> well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed very
> low
> on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the
> look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
> For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
> block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I
> felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a
> rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
> --
> Mike W.
> 96 XR400
> 70 CT70
> 71 KG 100 (Hodaka-powered)
> 99 KZ1000P (training)
> 99 KZ1000P (rider)
> 00 Beta Rev-3