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It had been the perfect winter night to view Christmas
lights. "Hurry, kids!" I shouted upstairs to my children.
"Daddy's already outside warming the van." Within minutes
I heard excited voices. "Mommy! Mommy!" my six-year-old
daughter Abigail shouted, sliding on her behind down the
carpeted stairs. "Is the hot chocolate ready?"
"It's in the van," I told her, smiling as my two-year-
old son Simeon tugged at my shirt. We were all wearing our
pajamas. After all, this was a Christmas tradition! Each
year at Christmastime, we'd get into our sleepwear, pack a
bag full of munchies, and head to our van to go looking at
decorations on neighboring houses. We had just stepped out
of the door when Abigail surprised me by asking, "Mama, can
you give me more money for doing my chores? I want to buy
you, Daddy, and Simeon the best gifts for Christmas!"
"The best gifts are those that come from the heart," I
grinned, recalling how she had drawn me a picture of a
rainbow the day before after learning I hadn't been feeling well.
"You mean that instead of buying people things at the
stores, that there's other ways to give them gifts?"
"Yep," I answered, securing her seat belt. "All a
person has to do is look into their heart and they'll find
many good gifts to give."
Settled into the van, we opened the bag of goodies and
the kids cheered as we passed house after house decorated
with snowmen, Santa and his reindeer, nativity scenes or
that were glowing brightly in Christmas lights.
Suddenly, it began snowing lightly just as we rounded
the corner of a street that led into the neighborhood that
my husband Jeff and I had lived in years ago. The
headlights flashed onto the first brick home of the street.
The house appeared disturbingly dark compared to the bright
lights displayed by its neighbors.
"The people who live there must not like Christmas,"
Abigail noted from the back seat.
"Actually, honey," my husband said, stopping the van
briefly along the curb, "they used to have the best
decorated house in the neighborhood." Jeff clasped my hand
and I sighed, remembering Lena and her husband and how they
used to take such joy in decorating their home for
Christmas. "It's for the children," they'd say. "We like
to imagine them in the back seat of their parents' cars;
their little faces full of Christmas magic as they look at our home."
"Why don't they decorate it anymore?" Abigail asked,
bringing my attention to the present.
"Well," I began, remembering the dark days when Lena's
husband had been hospitalized. "Her husband died a few
years ago, and Lena's very old. She only has one child and
he's a soldier living far away."
"Tell me what she's like," Abigail said, and for the
next few minutes Jeff and I filled her in on the kind
things Lena used to do.
"And every Sunday after church, she'd make homemade
cookies and invite us over. She's an incredible person," Jeff concluded.
"Can we visit her now?" asked Abigail.
Simeon met Abigail's question with enthusiastic
agreement, and I shared our children's excitement. Both
Jeff and I looked down at our attire.
"I knew this would happen one day," he said, rubbing
his forehead. "First I let you talk me into wearing
pajamas in the van, and now you're going to want me to
actually go visiting, right?"
I kissed his cheek and an hour later, after leaving
Lena's home, Abigail and Simeon clutched the crocheted tree
ornaments she'd graciously given them.
"I wish I had a gift for her," Abigail said, waving at
the elderly woman standing in her doorway.
The next morning, my children gave me strict orders
not to come upstairs. They said something about it being a
secret mission for Christmas. After rummaging through
drawers, closets and toy chests, they came down the stairs
wearing toy construction hats, snow boots, and Simeon's play tool belts.
"What is all this?" I laughed. "Are you going to fix things around here?"
"Nope," Abigail smiled brightly. "We're going to give
a gift to Lena. Since she's too old and doesn't have
anyone to do it for her - we're going to decorate her house for Christmas!"
Her words brought tears to my eyes. "That's a
wonderful idea," I said, calling their father. "But I
think you'll need Daddy and me to help. Is it okay if
we're part of your secret mission?"
"Sure!" they replied. Hours later, we stood with
Lena, who couldn't have been happier, on the sidewalk in
front of her now brightly glowing house. The lights we had
found in her basement were shining with pride over snow-
capped arches and windows. Candy canes lined the sidewalk
and welcomed passersby to the Nativity scene that Abigail
and Simeon had positioned on the snow-covered lawn. A car
cruising along slowed its speed to view the lights. Two
children peeked from the back window, their faces full of
excitement. Lena watched them, her eyes aglow.
It had been a day full of hard work, but it was worth
every second to see the joy on her face. Suddenly, she
disappeared inside her home and returned carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies.
Abigail reached her hand inside my coat pocket and clutched my fingers.
"You were right, Mom," she sighed, her dark eyes content.
"About what, sweetie?"
She leaned her head against my arm, and replied, "The
best gifts are those from the heart." I kissed the top of
her head, so proud of her for using her own heart to think
of this, and then I turned to my husband. Our eyes met and he smiled.
"Looks like decorating Lena's house can be added to
our list of Christmas traditions," he announced. The kids heartily agreed.
By Karen L. Garrison
Lights for Lena
"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science." Albert Einstein
As of 1983, an average of Three billion Christmas cards were sent annually in the United States.
