My Most Memorable Christmas Gift

I was thirteen, I believe, when what I most wanted for Christmas was a small Bible. Though hard to remember for sure, it must have been that year, because that was the year it would've mattered most to me.

We were raised Christian, but didn't attend church until the year I turned thirteen, that I remember. God does work in mysterious ways. He prompted someone in our community to invite Mom to try the Disciples of Christ Church in our tiny hometown. We all fell in love with it immediately, especially with Reverend Stroud and his wife.

Thirteen is a difficult age for everyone, I suppose, and it was no different for me. Full of self-doubt and self-recrimination, I relished Reverend Stroud's weekly sermons. He didn't preach. He wasn't self-righteous. He simply believed completely in the messages he shared with us, and it showed. Mrs. Stroud was the same. Very luckily, she was the Sunday school teacher for our age. And she was definitely Heaven-sent. Looking very much like the "typical" Grandma, with beautiful gray-white hair and a soft roundness, she gladly opened her arms and her heart to all of us. She smiled incessantly and showed approval in her eyes.

The Stroud's reminded me a bit of my own grandparents. Perhaps that was why I accepted them immediately and fully. The tall, thin, respectfully distant but warm and caring man with the shorter and plumper and more outwardly sociable wife seemed more like family than strangers.

I had needed the acceptance they gave, and I still cherish it.

With their help, I learned to forgive myself for not being what I felt I should be, and to forgive others for not being what I thought they should be. I learned there was a bigger plan, more important things to dwell on, and that there was always Someone Who would accept me the way I was, other than my Mom. It was an essential lesson at that stage of my life. It was the beginning of a new life.

As I grew older, and sang with the church choir, I found the nerve to do solos and duets in front of the congregation. One of my fondest memories is of Mom repeating what Reverend Stroud said about my rendition of "The Rose." He liked to hear me sing it because of how the sweetness of my voice went with the meaning. Well, something similar to that. I've never thought of my voice as "sweet", but I was glad he'd enjoyed it. If no one else ever enjoys hearing me sing, it doesn't matter. I was glad to give back just a touch of the happiness he had brought me.

The church changed over the years, and the Stroud's moved to another city, another congregation. I felt the loss deeply, and asked them to come back so he could officiate at my wedding. It wouldn't have been the same with anyone else.

Reverend Stroud has been gone for several years now, but I send Mrs. Stroud a Christmas card and newsletter every year, thinking some year I will finally send a note telling her how important they both were to me, and still are. Her return card last year, saying that it wasn't Christmas until she received mine, still touches me deeply. I'm not sure how I could've made such a difference in her life. I was simply one of their sheep. But it matters that I do.

The small white Bible Mom gave me for Christmas that year sits beside my bed yet today. It perhaps isn't well-read enough, but it is marked with some of my favorite passages and is a constant reminder of how much I wanted it, and what brought me to want it.

I have sent out my yearly card and wait slightly impatiently for word from her. Christmas simply isn't the same without it.

LK Hunsaker

Copyright 26 Dec 2001

Like to add a comment - send mail to editor@the-writers-garret.com