I was excited. I was going to have a Christmas party for the first time in years. I'd invited six ladies in my church, and I'd bought a gift and a beautiful candle for each of them. I'd also prepared a special lunch and a fancy dessert.
I decorated the house and had candles burning and carols playing. I'd also bought six poinsettia plants to decorate the living room, and I planned to give a poinsettia to each lady when she left so she could enjoy it at home.
I'd been planning the party for weeks and had done everything I could think of to make it perfect. They were all going to come in one car and they were going to arrive at noon.
Then snow started falling. Everything looked so beautiful until the snow got deeper. My friends called to say they didn't feel it was safe to drive. I was disappointed, but of course I didn't want them to risk having a car accident so I told them not to worry about cancelling our gathering.
There was no point in postponing the party and trying to have it a few days later. The food I'd prepared would not keep, and I knew my friends would be very busy with other plans as Christmas drew nearer.
I decided since I couldn't give the gifts to the people as I'd planned, I'd give them to strangers. I removed the nametags from the gifts and candles. Then I waited until after dark when I randomly left a gift or a candle or a poinsettia at the doors of various apartments. The neighbors would discover the surprise when they opened their doors that night or the next morning. A tag on each surprise simply said, "Merry Christmas from Santa."
I'd given away 18 gifts, candles and poinsettias. Eighteen people would be surprised and happy. I felt good. The gifts hadn't gone to the people I had planned to give them to, but they weren't wasted. Did it really matter who got the gifts, as long as they made someone happy?
Christmas brings memories of our happiest Christmases and our worst Christmases. We might forget what happened on most of our birthdays or other holidays, but most of us remember something about every Christmas we've had since we were children-the best and worst, the happiest and the saddest. If we've lost loved ones, we miss them the most at Christmas.
When my children were small, I was in a store looking at toys. I'd already gone over my Christmas budget, but I saw some things I knew my children would love. I was torn between being sensible and saving some money or buying last minute gifts, which would leave me scrambling to pay my bills in January.
An old man who worked in the store asked if I needed help, and I told him I was having trouble making up my mind.
"I had two sons. I never regretted a dollar I spent on them, but I've often regretted money I didn't spend on them. Money comes and goes, but your kids aren't little for very long," he said.
I bought the extra toys and they made all the difference on Christmas morning. The joy and laughter and happiness-that was priceless. My kids never forgot that Christmas. They always say it was the best Christmas of their childhood, and that's because I followed the advice of a stranger.
Gift-giving isn't about what you give or how much or how little you spend. It's about reaching out to others and giving them something tangible they can hold in their hands-something that tells them someone loves them, likes them, and cares about them. Something that lets them know they are not invisible and they are not forgotten.
At Christmas we are a little kinder, we give more to charity, we smile more, laugh more, eat more, and love more. Thousands of people who haven't been to church in a year will bundle up in their coats and gloves and walk through the snow to go to the Christmas Eve candlelight service. People who haven't sung a hymn in years can remember every word to carols they sang as children.
We're better people at Christmas. We are the best we can be; we are our true selves. We're children again.
Crying Wind is the author of Crying Wind and My Searching Heart, When the Stars Danced, and Thunder in Our Hearts, Lightning in Our Veins. All her books are available from Indian Life.
