A dear friend gave me a gift today. I wanted to pass it along…

THE RIFLE
by R. B. Ryan

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 stretched 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 side boards 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, sure 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 something, 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 even 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.

Pa 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 town 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.

Don’t be too busy today. Feel free to share this inspiring message. And may God reveal someone in need to you, and bless you!