*** This story was sent to me by a friend. I felt it was appropriate for here. Enjoy and Merry Christmas. CJD3
*******************************************************************************************
The Christmas Rifle
This story by an unknown author reminds us that sometimes the best gift of all is sharing with those in need.
The Christmas Rifle
From the 2012 Guns and Hunting issue of Sporting Classics.
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or for 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 15 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 badly 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 the Bible. After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace, waiting 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 the Scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible; instead he bundled up again 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 was I not getting the rifle for Christmas, but 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 dragging one’s feet when he’d told them to do something, so I got up, 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 short or quick. I could tell. We never hitched up the sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me, and 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 highsideboards! 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.
After 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 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. He then turned and went back into the shed 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 and went to the smokehouse where he 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 had gunnysacks 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.
*******************************************************************************************
The Christmas Rifle
This story by an unknown author reminds us that sometimes the best gift of all is sharing with those in need.
The Christmas Rifle
From the 2012 Guns and Hunting issue of Sporting Classics.
Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or for 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 15 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 badly 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 the Bible. After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace, waiting 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 the Scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible; instead he bundled up again 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 was I not getting the rifle for Christmas, but 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 dragging one’s feet when he’d told them to do something, so I got up, 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 short or quick. I could tell. We never hitched up the sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me, and 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 highsideboards! 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.
After 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 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. He then turned and went back into the shed 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 and went to the smokehouse where he 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 had gunnysacks 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.