As we get further into the holiday season, we need to keep focus on the true meaning of the holidays and what it really means to be human. Going into the New Year, as we continue to develop and focus on furthering the betterment of our world, it is more important now than ever before that we get to the root causes of how we got here and how we move forward together, with each other, for each other.
This video is remarkable and should be watched by everyone. Whether you already have a heart full of love, hope and ambition, or you have just given up. We are meant for great things still and we will get through these difficult times.
I wanted to add this story because it is just a great reminder and supporter of what I mean when I talk about the importance and greatness of helping each other. My grandmother read it to her Kiwanis group recently and I thought I would share it here. Even if you have seen this before, I believe you will still enjoy it.
Grandma’s Christmas Secret:
I remembered my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Clause,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!” I fled to her that because I knew she would be straight with me. Grandma always told the truth.
Grandma was home, and I told her everything.She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus!” she snorted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”
We arrived at a store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. Grandma handed me ten dollars. “take this money,” she said, “and buy something someone else really needs. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out.
For a few moments I just stood there, confused, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors and the kids at school. I suddenly thought of Wayne Lieninger. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class. Wayne didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for recess during the inter. His step-mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Wayne Lieninger didn’t have a cough , and he didn’t have a coat. I figured the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Wayne a coat!
I settled on a blue corduroy with a hood to it. It looked warm, and he would like that. “Os this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. “Yes,” I answered. “It’s …. for Wayne.” The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me gift-wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) and write, “To Wayne, From Santa Claus” on it — Grandma said that Santa insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Wayne’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa’s helpers.
Grandma parked down from Wayne’s house. We crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.” I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. We waited breathlessly for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Wayne.
Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.