Blogger: Wendy Lawton
Location: Books & Such Central Valley Office, Calif.
This week we are sharing one of our unforgettable Christmas people. My mind goes immediately to my family. That would be the easy choice. I grew up in a happy, happy family.
My father wasn’t so blessed, however. His family was. . . well, odd. He was an only child with a composer/musician father and a mother who never quite grew out of her speakeasy days. To say they were interesting would be an understatement. My grandfather played the piano at the Cliff House in San Francisco between gigs on the radio. My grandmother’s three sisters–Cora, Electa and Grace–lived in a downtown San Francisco hotel for as long as I knew them. I remember their clean laundry being delivered every week from the Chinese laundry, wrapped in slick blue paper and tied in string. The aunts had long red fingernails and wore ropes of jewelry–the antithesis of my mother’s solid farm stock. When the aunts laughed, it came out as a trio of cackles. I have to admit, we were mostly scared of them.
At Christmastime my father would collect his whole family and bring them to the house for dinner. As he extracted the aunts from the car, he would always wink at us kids and whisper, “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn and cauldron bubble. . .”
But writing about those characters is too easy, isn’t it?
Instead, if the spirit of Christmas is giving, I’m going to tell you about my mysterious giver. My Dad was diagnosed with cancer during my last year of high school. He died just before my graduation. It devastated our family, especially my mom, a widow in her forties with seven children and precious few resources. I had already planned to go away to college, and my mother insisted we keep things moving forward. She figured we’d manage it somehow. My counselors at school scurried to get financial aid for me, and by September, I packed my things and headed off to school with little more than change in my pockets. It was a scary time.
Money was so tight I had no idea how I would make it. That first Christmas, before school let out for break, I received a letter in my mail cubby in the dorm. It had no return address.Inside was a blank piece of paper wrapped around a twenty-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill. I don’t remember why I needed it so badly that exact moment, but I do remember bursting into tears. It made all the difference in the world to me at that time. I racked my brain trying to figure out who had sent that gift. I never did solve the mystery, but those envelopes came three or four times each year I was in college–always just when I needed it most.
To this day I have no idea who my secret benefactor was, but he or she changed my life. Not because of the money or the belief in me, though that was no small thing. I learned firsthand the power of anonymous giving. It’s something of which the world has so little understanding. There’s a verse about this: “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:1-3). My mysterious giver must have known that verse.
Because of this giver, my challenge has been to pass it on whenever I can. At Christmastime, most of us receive gifts that are tagged and given with great fanfare. I challenge you to find at least one way to give anonymously. It’s not too late to take up this habit before 2011 tiptoes away.
Have you had an anonymous angel in your life? Have you found any innovative ways to “pay it forward?” By sharing, you’ll help to inspire our giving.
Sarah Thomas
I’ve been thinking alot, lately, about the importance of doing what God expects even when no one but Him sees it. Thanks for sharing this lovely story.
Julane Hiebert
I believe my anonymous angel was, indeed, an angel–but the reader will need to determine that.
In October of 1985, our youngest daughter, then 23, went to be with Jesus. But, that’s not the real story.
A Christmas tradition that my two sisters-in-law and myself enjoyed for many years was a shopping trip to a mall located about 45 minutes from our homes. We would eat in the food court, laugh, reminisce, shop, and promise ourselves we needed to do this sort of thing more often than at Christmas.
A year after our daughter’s death, we again found ourselves at this mall, but this time with a new plan–we would go sing Christmas carols to the one remaining uncle who lived nearby.But first–I REALLY needed to go to the restroom.
Leaving my two sisters-in-law waiting in the hallway, I found myself in an unbelievably empty bathroom–in a mall–at the height of the busy Christmas season.
While I was washing my hands before leaving, a young woman in a wheelchair entered. As the stalls marked ‘handiicapped’ were at the end of the bank of stalls, against a wall, no less, she was having a difficult time maneuvering her electric chair into a position that would allow her to access the needed facility.
I asked if I might help. Her reply was very deliberate, slow in speech, but most appreciative. In the still otherwise empty bathroom we were able to proceed and finish the needed task and I stayed so that I might help her wash her hands.
Finished she thanked me, explained she had suffered a head injury in a car wreck that left her in this circumstance, and showed me a picture of a loyal boyfriend who still wanted to marry her. And she assured me she was “just fine now.”
Before going out the door, she asked if I might come visit her sometime.I replied that I would love to do that, and asked her name.
With the smile of an angel, in her soft, slow speech, she said “My name is Lori.”
Our daughter’s name was Lori. She died the result of a blood clot. She, too, had been in a car wreck, suffered a head injury, was in a coma for 7 weeks, used an electric wheelchair, and had the same type of speech that I recognized in this sweet girl.
This “mall Lori” went out through the door I held open for her–but I stayed, still alone, and cried my heart out once again for the daughter i missed so very, very much.
When I was finally able to depart, my waiting sisters were curious as to why it had taken so long . . .. and I explained as best I could, not sure myself what had just taken place until they responded with . . . “we have been standing here the whole time and no one else has gone in or come out since you went in.”
I believe, with all my heart, she was an angel. And I cherish that gift.
How do I pay if forward–by repeating this story as often as people will sit still long enough to hear it. A constant reminder that we have a Lord and Savior who cares about every tiny detail of our lives. Who cared enough about my broken heart to send me a girl who needed what i could comfortably offer . . . so that He could offer me what I needed.
And I will keep my promise. I WILL visit her one day . . . and what a glorious day that will be.
Anne Love
Wendy, thank you for sharing. I laughed at the images of your aunts. But the story about your mysterious giver brought me to tears. My daughter’s best friend was murdered 2 1/2 months ago. He was a college professor, his daughter is a merit scholar and having a hard time trying to decide where to go to college in the Fall. I know its changed absolutely everything in their lives. I pray God will provide for her like He did for you! He sure is a BIG God, and this is a great reminder of the importance of being obedient to that still small voice Who prompts us to give without knowing the exact need.
Amanda Dykes
Wendy, than you for sharing this. It is so amazing to see God’s hand of provision in such beautiful ways!
My best friend (now my husband) lost his mom tragically and sudennly just after our high school graduation. An anonymous couple gave him a large sum of money to pay for his schooling, sending the news through a letter carried by one of our small-town law enforcement officers. The letter detailed that they’d lost a son tragically, years ago, and their empathy for my husband’s plight took a tangible form by paying for a large portion of his schooling. They wished to remain anonymous, so my husband baked them one of his mom’s famous cheesecakes as a thank you and sent it to them through the same officer. Over the years, he sent occasional updates and thank-you’s to them and finally, just before our senior year of college, our wedding invitation. They didn’t come, but they did send a card, signed with their names. Still faceless to us, we mailed them a card with a wedding picture in it thanking them once more for their selfless generosity.
A year later, we’d moved back to our hometown after college graduation and were poking around yard sales on a mission to furnish our little hole-in-the-wall house (loved that place), when a petite woman approached me and said “Amanda, right?” My mind spun as I frantically tried to place her, but to no avail. She went on to introduce herself, saying she recognized me from the wedding picture we’d sent. Finally, the dots began to connect in my head. We each summoned our husbands, and on that hot summer day in the middle of dusty box-towers and tables of yard sale trinkets, we met the anonymous benefactors who we now call dear friends.
In the midst of tragedy, this was just one way that we saw God’s mighty, gentle hand move, and we cherish it.
Amanda Dykes
p.s. I’m so intrigued by Cliff House history– would that have been the post-Sutro Cliff House, after the “Victorian” one burned down?
Anne Love
oops, through my tears I flubbed up. My daughter’s best friend’s FATHER, was killed (not her).