Returning the Gift

by Meg Robins

We all enjoyed the giving, but something made it extra special for me.

The noise level in my biology class was rising rapidly. You could feel the students’ excitement for the Christmas break. The teachers couldn’t hold the students’ attention on this Friday afternoon. As a class officer, I had been working along with others gathering donations to give to families in need at Christmastime. That weekend we would shop for gifts and food and make the deliveries.

It was finally the big day. Divided into groups, we were given envelopes which contained the money that we were to spend on our assigned families. We were given just the ages of those we were to buy for, no names.

When we were finished shopping, we wrapped the gifts and piled the food into boxes. We soon found ourselves inside the vans that were taking us to the homes to deliver the gifts. After stopping out of sight of the home, we carefully and quietly spaced ourselves three feet apart. A signal was given quietly, and the presents went one by one through each of our hands until they reached the front step.

As I took a moment to look around, it seemed as if time had stood still. It was such a magical moment. The silence that penetrated that spot of ground was amazing. I wanted to capture that moment of peaceful, heart-felt giving. It was as if the group of us were angels doing the Lord’s work through secret acts of service. The dreamlike state I was in was quickly dimmed by a nudge. It was time to get into the vans. Someone rang the doorbell, and before we had a chance to leave, we were caught! The mother took one long look at the pile of gifts and food, and with a tear-streamed face said, “Thank you, thank you. Merry Christmas.” We darted off into different directions until we reached the van. Our teenage hearts were definitely filled with good feelings. We continued to deliver gifts for the next hour.

At one house, the vans were parked around the corner like they had been at previous houses. Then the assembly line of angelic hands started all over again. But somehow this experience was different. It was my assigned house, the family I had shopped for. That same good feeling went through me as the presents went through my hands. The gifts piled up on the front porch.

We decided to hide in the bushes and behind the surrounding snow mounds so that we could see the reactions of the family. I picked the nearest evergreen bush and knelt behind it. One boy rang the doorbell and hid behind the closest tree. The front door opened an inch, and then it closed. There were so many gifts that they couldn’t open the door.

A few seconds later two young children came running around the back of the house and, in surprise, they clasped their hands over their mouths. With a small push, the door opened a foot more. A little girl about age six came out of the house dressed in pink pajamas. In an excited voice she said, “Look, Mom, cereal! It’s cereal and milk, Mom!”

When I heard those innocent words, I wanted to reach out and hold her. I wanted that girl to have all that I had.

It was in that moment that I remembered back to when I was six. We had opened our front door one December night and were completely overwhelmed by the bags of gifts so generously placed on our doorstep. Our house was much warmer than usual that night because my father had been given firewood earlier that day. As a family of nine, we were barely making ends meet. That year especially, I could sense my parents’ uneasiness about Christmas day. I was limited to requesting only one toy. I had carefully chosen to ask for a “Peaches and Cream” Barbie doll, and I placed a torn-out newspaper picture of the doll up on the refrigerator. With my six-year-old heart and mind, I knew my one wish would come true.

Before heading off to bed, we knelt as a family on our old green carpet and gave a prayer of thanks for the few things that we did have. I remember going to bed feeling hungry. Each day food was practically the same—Cream of Wheat, oatmeal, or biscuits. I prayed that tomorrow—Christmas—would be different.

I snuggled in my blankets, and just as my eyes were about to close, I heard a muffled knock at the door. I followed the members of my family downstairs. As the door opened, an overwhelming feeling took over my little body. There were big black bags of gifts and food placed at our doorstep. I was so happy that I couldn’t believe my eyes. I said a whispered prayer of thanks, and I knew that my prayers that night had been heard. We carried the gifts inside and placed the bags of gifts under the tree.

Sleep did not come easily that night, but I managed a few hours before my sister Mary woke me. We eagerly ran downstairs, and to my eyes, it was as if the gifts had multiplied overnight. They were scattered around our tree. I again thought to myself about the one wish I had made. I picked up a gift that had “Meg” written on it, and I opened it carefully. I pulled out the most beautiful “Peaches and Cream” Barbie that I had ever seen. I hugged her, and I knew that I had not been forgotten. I learned several years later that my prayers were answered through the loving hands of those who generously helped out needy families.

Now as a teenager hiding behind a bush, watching that little six-year-old girl, I was so touched by the spirit of this family that my emotions overwhelmed me. The words of that sweet little girl were echoing in my mind.

I will always remember the peaceful, quiet night that I spent watching many families receive their miracle Christmas, just like the one my family received so many years before.

Illustrated by Roger Motzkus