Every year, right before Christmas, when my son was young, we would go to
the store and buy toys for children who would otherwise not receive many (or
any) Christmas presents. Sometimes we'd give them to Toys for Tots, other
years Angel Tree and some years a special program at our church. It was
always fun for both of us.
My son has since grown up and we don't shop together any more, but I still
enjoy shopping for those anonymous others that need a little extra each
year. Last year I decided to give some art supplies to a program called
Christmas with Dignity. In this program new, unwrapped items are displayed
on shelves in a 'store' in a local church and parents could come and choose
the items for their children and pay a small fee, below the usual retail
amount. I liked the idea because it allowed the parents to decide what to
give their children.
I had a blast selecting many art items: glitter pens, colored paper, thick
pads of artist paper, paints, brushes, felt tip pens, crayons and a
brightly colored plastic case to hold it all. All the things that I loved as
a child. I was to deliver them that afternoon. But I was late leaving work,
and the church was closed so that I could not drop them off. I was annoyed
because it would mean another trip in an already overbooked week.
Later that evening, I arrived at my weekly volunteer position as a counselor
at a Crisis Pregnancy Center. My first client was a young woman from a
western African nation. She had been in this country about six months and
had discovered she was pregnant. She seemed mortified to find herself in
this position. As we talked further, she told me that she was very ashamed
because the father of the baby had rejected her when he discovered she was
expecting a baby and declared that the child "could not have been his!" This
was very degrading to her and she sobbed as she told me her story.
We continued with the process, which included a pregnancy test (positive)
and an ultrasound--which altogether took about an hour.
As we began to discuss her options, she told me that even though she was a
believer and believed that God would not want her to, she felt she must
abort her baby. She said that she came to America to find a job to send
money home to her five-year-old daughter who had been left in the care of
her grandmother. She sobbed that she had not yet found a job and was so
broke she would not even be able to send her daughter a Christmas gift.
Suddenly I remembered the art supplies in the back seat of my car. I asked
the young woman if her daughter liked to draw and paint. She said, "Oh, yes,
very much. It is her favorite thing."
I went on to explain how I had bought these supplies for another program,
but did not have a chance to drop them off. I asked her if she would have
enough time to mail a gift to her daughter in Africa, and have it arrive by
Christmas. She looked amazed. She asked me if I was sure I wanted to give
her the supplies. I said I was sure that I wanted to and that the gift must
have been intended for her daughter all along. We both began to cry.
I left her for a moment and then went and explained the situation to the
Assistant Director of the Center. She suggested that I look through the box
of new toys that had been donated to the Center to see if there was anything
that might be appropriate for a five-year-old girl. I looked and found an
adorable little doll with a bonnet. I brought it out and showed it to her.
It still had the manufacturers tag on it. The name on the tag said
"Precious". I gave her the doll. She read the tag and began to cry. I asked
her why she was crying.
"My daughter's name is 'Precious'."
Author's name withheld by request