The
Rifle |
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 fire 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, Brother
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.
I am not sure if this is fact or fiction. It really does not matter this time of the year. The story is a very 'good one' for Christmas time. Enjoy it and share it with the joy of Christmas.
Mike
Meehan
Webmaster
12-20-2005
Merry Christmas
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