A Christmas Story – Gift from a Child

I read this Christmas story with my kids this morning and wanted to share it here, in case you’re looking for stories to share with your children as well.

      Two weeks before Christmas, a nine-year-old girl was walking with her friend down the street, sliding on the ice. The two of them were talking about what they hoped to get for Christmas. They stopped to talk to an old man named Harry who was on his knees pulling weeds from around a large oak tree. He wore a frayed, woolen jacket and a pair of worn garden gloves. His fingers were sticking out the ends, blue from the cold.

      Harry told the girls that he was getting the yard in shape as a Christmas present to his mother who had passed away several years before. His eyes brimmed with tears as he patted the old oak. “My mother was all I had. She loved her yard and her trees, so I do this for her at Christmas.” His words touched the girls and soon they were down on their hands and knees helping him to weed around the trees. It took the three of them the rest of the day to complete the task. When they finished, Harry pressed a quarter into each of their hands. “I wish I could pay you more, but it’s all I’ve got right now,” he said.

      The girls had often passed that way before, and as they walked on, they remembered that the house was shabby, with no wreath, no Christmas tree or other decorations to add cheeriness; just the lonely figure of Harry sitting by his curtainless window. The quarter seemed to burn a hole of guilt in the one little girl’s mind as they returned to their homes.

      The next day she called her friend and they agreed to put their quarters in a jar marked “Harry’s Christmas Present” and then they began to seek out small jobs to earn more. Every nickel, dime, and quarter they earned went into the jar. Two days before Christmas, they had enough to buy new gloves and a Christmas card.

      Christmas Eve found them on Harry’s doorstep singing carols. When he opened the door, they presented him with the gloves wrapped in pretty paper, the card, and a pumpkin pie still warm from the oven. With trembling hands, he tore the paper from the gloves, and then to their astonishment, he held them to his face and wept.—James S. Hewett

His First Banker Experience

A Story Told to The Annual Pennsylvania Community Bankers Association

By Charlie “T” Jones

I’ve never written and only rarely tell of my first banker experience.

It happened in 1936. I was nine years old and the Depression was still in full force. We came from Alabama and settled in Lancaster County in a little row home, which my father managed to rent. It was getting near Christmas and my dear dad had nothing to spend for Christmas for his five children ages 1 to 9. In desperation, he went to the bank to try to persuade them that he was a safe risk for a small loan. He explained his predicament: no job, no collateral, and 5 small children with Christmas approaching.

As he should have known, the banker would have to decline his request, but he had an alternative offer for my dad to consider. He explained that if my dad could postpone celebrating Christmas a day or two, the children wouldn’t know it and everything would be reduced in the stores, and he would only need half the amount he was requesting. He said if this was agreeable, he would approve the loan for a smaller amount. Of course my dad gratefully accepted his offer.

I have experienced many Christmases, but this was the one I remember the best. Christmas Eve after we were all tucked in bed, the downstairs front door slammed open. There was a lot of noise and footsteps, and my father rushed down the stairs to see what was happening.

I followed a few minutes later, and saw him sitting on the bottom step with his head in his hands. I couldn’t understand why he was weeping. When I reached the bottom step, I could see no one in the hallway, but the hall was lined with boxes. There were boxes of food, clothing and candy. There was a riding fire engine and a four-foot folding white paneled dollhouse. We never had a Christmas like that and we never knew who or why they did it. We didn’t belong to a church, and the friends we had were as poor as we were. My dad returned to the bank to repay the loan. The banker surprised my dad by telling him that there was no record of his loan.

I only understood that Christmas experience years later when Jesus became my Lord and Savior. How blessed some of us are to see God’s love working in and through His children. John 3:16 is where it begins, but those unknown servants were practicing 1st John 3:16. “Hereby perceive we the love of God, how He laid down his life for us: so we ought to lay down our lives for others.”