They say that Christmas is for kids.
True. As we grow older (and find out why Mommy is kissing Santa Claus!), and get sucked into the problem-infested whirlpool of living, Christmas starts to lose its meaning. Every year, Christmas seems to diminish in sparkle despite the newer, bigger and brighter lights and tinsel that commercialism dazzles the season with.
It is really supposed to. I mean, it is really supposed to lose its meaning as you start to gain wisdom. When you feel like Christmas has no meaning, the wise man within you is looking for a reason – the true purpose behind all the razzmatazz that truly makes sense to your heart.
Now, it’s your turn. It is time for you to give Christmas a new significance, a deep personal meaning. What to you is the meaning of Christmas? Make this season your golden chance to define it.
Christmas Heroes |
Jesse e-mailed me saying: "I don’t need to look at how my kababayans are suffering. I visit my family every other year, and looks like things just get worse and worse. My wife sent all her nephews and nieces through college and most of them have already finished. We send balikbayan boxes to our relatives two to three times a year. My wife and I don’t give each other gifts, instead we put the money into a Christmas fund yearly that my wife, Fely, sends to her brother in Pandacan to distribute rice and (groceries in the past years) cash this year to the squatters in their district of Pandacan."
The letter tugged at my heartstrings. Jesse and his wife, Fely, don’t give each other Christmas presents! They’d rather fatten their Christmas fund to help the squatters in their Pandacan district. How many of us who live here in the country and enjoy the bounty and blessings of our Inang Bayan even look at our poor neighbors and, at the very least, offer them a smile?
The September 11 attack on the World Trade Center wreaked havoc on the world economy. And the company Jesse works for was not spared. He is afraid that he might be laid off when worst comes to worst.
But Jesse is not a bit worried. He says, "We have nothing to lose. We came here with nothing." So, it is Christmas as always for this young family – their generosity overflowing, connecting them to their kababayans halfway around the globe.
I salute Jesse and Fely, and the countless Filipinos who work abroad, enflamed with the hope of alleviating the material sufferings and uplifting the spirits of their relatives and loved ones they had to leave behind for greener pastures. They give Christmas a new, heroic meaning. Jesse and Fely, may your tribe increase!
She read the letter: "Dear Marge, I’m going to be in your neighborhood Saturday afternoon and I’d like to stop by for a visit. Love always, Jesus." Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table.
"Why would the Lord want to visit me? I’m nobody special. I don’t have anything to offer." With that thought, Marge remembered her empty kitchen cabinets. "Oh my goodness, I really don’t have anything to offer. I’ll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner."
She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and 40 cents. "Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least."
She threw on her coat and hurried out the door. She bought a loaf of French bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk, leaving her with a grand total of 12 cents to last her until Monday. Nonetheless, she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm.
"Hey lady, can you help us, lady?" Marge had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn’t even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway – a man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.
"Look lady, I ain’t got a job, ya know, and my wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it’s getting cold and we’re getting kinda hungry and, well, if you could help us. Lady, we’d really appreciate it."
Marge looked at them both. They were dirty, they smelled bad and frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.
"Sir, I’d like to help you, but I’m a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I’m having an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning on serving that to Him."
"Yeah, well, okay lady, I understand. Thanks anyway." The man put his arm around the woman’s shoulders, turned and headed back into the alley. As she watched them leave, Marge felt a peculiar twinge in her heart.
"Sir, wait!" The couple stopped and turned as she ran down the alley after them. "Look, why don’t you take this food. I’ll figure out something else to serve my guest." She handed the man her grocery bag.
"Thank you lady. Thank you very much! Yes, thank you!" It was the man’s wife, and Marge could see now that she was shivering.
"You know, I’ve got another coat at home. Here, why don’t you take this one." Marge unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it over the woman’s shoulders. Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street without her coat and with nothing to serve her guest.
"Thank you lady! Thank you very much!"
Marge was chilled by the time she reached her front door, and worried too. The Lord was coming to visit and she didn’t have anything to offer Him. She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her mailbox.
"That’s odd. The mailman doesn’t usually come twice in one day." She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.
It read: "Dear Marge, It was so good to see you again. Thank you for the lovely meal. And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat. Love always, Jesus."
The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Marge no longer noticed. – Author unknown; forwarded by Claudine 3
The White Envelope |
The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters were dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together. It presented a sharp contrast to our boys, in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids – all kids – and he knew how kids were, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came.
That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed an envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.
For each Christmas, I followed the tradition – one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn’t end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.
The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May we all remember the true spirit of Christmas this year and always. – Author unknown; forwarded by Elsa Fidelino-Villanueva, California
Don’t Get Me Wrong |
To lift the veil of seriousness, here is a Christmas joke for you!
Two Takes On The Three Wise Men |
The above story is cute, funny, etc., but do you know what would have happened if it had been Three GAY Wise Men instead?
They would have: Orchestrated a fabulous parade towards Bethlehem in full auburn and gold-sequined gowns to match the low "Star of Bethlehem" lighting. Arrived fashionably late. Helped deliver the baby and dressed Him up in a gorgeous butter cream-colored pashmina throw. Cleaned the stable and redecorated it in a "western" theme to match the animals – complete with a perfectly-centered mirror ball hanging from the wooden beams. Not made a casserole but rather a flawless entree of Chilean sea bass dusted in cocoa powder with Guatemalan mangoes in a light chutney mix, mashed potatoes with a light cream fennel sauce and Anjou pears with yogurt cream cheese and Grand Marnier swirls, topped off with cappuccino con panna.
The practical gifts would have included items from the new Baby Guess and Martha Stewart Living collections! – Forwarded by Em Arches
Merry Christmas! |
I would like to thank all the wonderful readers who have sent me e-mails and letters throughout the year. (I am not up-to-date with my snail mail correspondence – my apologies to letter senders but be assured that I got your mail!)
My very best to Nanay Nena and Tatay Daniel Calimlim, Mr. and Mrs. Joey Avellana, Jens Gerloff, Daniel Moulieres, Stefano Alberico, Soly Paraiso and Ms. Leah Navarro. And the brightest greetings to all who helped our family in our moment of grief during the passing away of my father, especially to the Honorable Senator Loren Legarda-Leviste, Mr. Eki Cardenas, Q.C. Councilor Ariel Enrile-Inton, Mitch Valdez, Richard and Lucy Gomez, and Ms. Millet Mananquil.
Love to my family, Buds, John, Sam and Miko, and Christmas joy to Chip, Robo, Bobby and their families, and to Liam, Danny, Tom, Cecile, Anabelle, Dian, Michael, Raul, Peachy, Mon and Lorraine, Amiel and Mojo.
Count your blessings and have a blessed Holiday Season!