This is one of my favorite Christmas stories.  Even though I heard it 
before, and I know how it is going to go, I still cry!  Thanks for 
sending it again.
Kathy


At 12:14 AM 12/18/2007, you wrote:
>Pa and The Rifle
>
>Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or 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 fifteen 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 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 in the Bible.
>
>After supper was over I took my boots off and stretc hed out in front of the
>
>fireplace and waited 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
>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 wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas,
>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 one dragging one's feet when he'd told
>
>them to do something, so I got up and 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 a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never
>hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
>
>Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up
>beside him. The cold was already biting at me. 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 high sideboards! 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 then 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 and then he turned and went back into the woodshed 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, then we went to the smoke house and Pa 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 just had gunny sacks
>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. We came in from the blind side of
>
>the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took
>the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a
>crack
>
>and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt.
>Could we come in for a bit?"
>
>Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around
>
>her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in
>front
>
>of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.
>Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you
>
>a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat
>
>on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
>
>She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There
>was a pair for her and one for each of the children---sturdy shoes, the
>best,
>
>shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to
>keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running
>down
>
>her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say somethin g, but it
>wouldn't come out.
>
>"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said,
>"Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and
>
>heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring
>in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit
>
>it, there were tears in my eyes too.
>
>In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and
>their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much
>gratitude
>
>in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy
>that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many
>
>times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we
>were literally saving the lives of these people.
>
>I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared.
>
>The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and
>Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face
>for a
>
>long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the
>Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send
>
>one of his angels to spare us."
>
>In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up
>in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but
>after
>
>Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure
>that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering
>
>all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The
>
>list seemed endless as I thought on it.
>
>P a insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left.
>
>I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to
>
>get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord
>
>would make sure he got the right sizes.
>
>Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave.
>
>Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung
>
>to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and
>I was glad that I still had mine.
>
>At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to
>invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey
>will
>
>be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he
>has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven.
>
>"It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't
>been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two
>
>sisters had all married and had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said,
>"Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, "'May the Lord bless you,' I
>
>know for certain that He will."
>
>Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even
>
>notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt,
>
>I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little
>money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but
>we
>
>didn't have quite enough.
>
>Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to
>make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we
>could
>
>get you that rifle, and I started into t own this morning to do just that.
>But on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his
>feet
>
>wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the
>money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you
>understand."
>
>I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again.
>
>I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it.
>
>Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a
>lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant
>smiles
>
>of her three children.
>
>For the rest of my life, Whenever I saw any of the Jensen's, or split a
>block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I
>felt riding
>
>home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that
>night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
>
>~by Rian B. Anderson~
>
>
>
>Dean Masters, owner of the Masters List
>
>The Lord is my light and my salvation.
>If he is yours, join us on the Masters List
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