It was two short days before Christmas and nine days before the end of a very difficult year. I had lost a god job, got divorced, gone on social security, worked part-time as a waitress, changed baby-sitters three times, attended the business management program at a local university, battled wasps and mice, and learnt to dislodge toys stuck in the toilet.
The old trailer home where Phillip, my two-year old son and I lived sat on the edge of a lonely field in a city in Michigan state, USA. My parents, who lived in a nearby town, had helped us as much as they possibly could. The bills were paid, but we had no Christmas tree, no presents for the baby, little to eat and $20 for groceries.
From the louvre windows of our trailer, the world looked bleak and dead. Several abandoned wasp nests clung stubbornly to the chrome trim of the windows, and beyond that the fruit trees stood bare. It was still, cold and grey. A warm tear spilled down my cheek.
At that moment Phillip began to tug at me, babbling in a language all his own. It was impossible not to smile.
I picked him up for a sweet, sloppy kiss, and then the phone rang. It was a concerned friend who insisted that I go to the charity The Salvation Army for a Christmas food basket. Finally, reluctantly, I agreed.
At the distribution point behind the Salvation Army building, a steady trial of ragged people filed in and out. Phillip was half asleep, furiously sucking his thumb while he twirled a strand of hair around his fingers. What does a baby know about Christmas? I hugged my son close and headed into the building.
The basket distribution area was crowded with boxes and milling people. The smell of dust, cardboard and apples filled the air. We were each given an empty cardboard box and directed to a long table in front of the stockpile of donated foods. Volunteers filled the boxes - a bag each of potatoes and apples, canned vegetables, assorted staples and a whole chicken, enough food to last till payday!
In another room full of donated toys, we could help ourselves to whatever we wanted. I selected three storybooks for Phillip and was headed for the door when I caught sight of a wind-up robot toy. It had a clear but slightly worn body, colourful inner gears, a red head and a large windup key. A twist of the key confirmed it worked well. A treasure!
My $20 bought a small artificial tree, a string of lights, a few handfuls of three-for-a-dollar ornaments, a colouring book, crayons and some wrapping paper.
Phillip was sound asleep when we got home. I put him in his crib and proceeded to unload groceries, start dinner and set up the tree.
As evening set in, the tree provided light. The plastic ornaments sparkled like stained glass, illuminated by 20 tiny multicoloured bulbs, each nestled in a plastic flower of a matching colour. The aroma of roasting chicken overpowered the ever-present smell of fuel oil from the furnace.
I thought about turning the radio on for Christmas music, but the silence was too perfect to disturb. It framed a perfect moment in time - joy, gratitude, hope and prayer wrapped in the kindness of others and lit with the opulence of the Christmas tree.
Eventually the silence gave way to soft sobs from Phillip. He was awake and hungry. His eyes, still puffy from sleep, opened wide at the sight of the tree. Normally a chatterbox Phillip was quiet as we shared dinner, his eyes never leaving the tree and its lights.
Christmas morning brought a dusting of snow on the ground.
One by one, I handed Phillip his presents. He tore the wrappings off, played briefly with each gift and then ran back for the next. The robot came last.
I wound it up and let it go. He crawled after the toy, intently watching the gears turning, the head bobbing, the mouth opening and closing.
The balance of the day I spent winding the robot up and watching Phillip chase after it. That toy, a gift from a stranger, held his interest for years afterwards.
Today Phillip is a fine young man of whom I am proud.
I immigrated to Canada where I worked as a counsellor. That little toy robot was eventually donated back to the Salvation Army, still in good condition. I think of that toy every Christmas, and of the little tree, the $20 and the good people who make Christmas miracles happen.
- Sally Irving (Reader's Digest)
