Giving

In the fourth century in Asia Minor, there lived a farmer with three beautiful daughters. When it came time for the first daughter, to marry, the farmer fretted aloud that no man would ever take her, because he had no money to offer as a dowry. Days later, when the farmer went out to do his work in the field, he found a bag of gold in the shoes he had left outside on his doorstep.

When it was time for his second daughter to marry, the farmer’s situation had not improved all that much. Sure enough, he tried to slip his field shoes in on a given day, and there was a bag of gold for his second daughter as well.

When it came time for his third daughter to marry, the farmer decided it was time to find out who his benefactor was. He stayed out on his front stoop all night, waiting for him to arrive, only to have the sun rise with his shoes empty and his stoop unvisited. He went inside to begin his day, and, pulling the socks off the hooks near the fire where he had left them to dry, he found a bag of gold in the toe of one of his socks.

Years later, it was revealed that the giver of the gold was none other than the local town priest, Nicholas, whose interest in the well-being of the farmer was supplemented by his desire to make sure the farmer’s beautiful daughters did not lead a life of ruin in the absence of a dowry— an interest that, for the third daughter, included a slide down the oversized chimney after the evening fire had died out. Nicholas‘ generosity has been honored throughout the centuries by families who hang Christmas stockings, making sure to put an orange in the toe of the stocking, representative of the bag of gold, and a reminder that the true meaning of the season is not one of excess, but one of meeting need.*

Nicholas’s generosity was evidenced to me a little closer to home. My father was a commercial printer in Detroit, where he came across quite a few advertising executives and purchasing agents. In the 60s and 70s, these mad men would go to great expense to express their gratitude to their customers at Christmas, and my father was one of the beneficiaries of this largesse.

Floral arrangements, food, playing cards, a massive can of “exotic” red pistachios, and, I’m told, alcohol was dropped off at our house on a near-daily basis by delivery trucks for most of December. Two of dad’s paper suppliers always sent a box of Christmas wrapping paper that included about a dozen different Christmas wraps, replete with bows, ribbons, and gift tags. It wasn’t until college that I first had to actually go out and buy Christmas wrapping on my own.

Dad took a different approach to the season. He’d buy a higher quality Christmas card in bulk (at a discount) and print (!) a note, expressing gratitude for the chance to work with his clients and suppliers, and notifying them that donations had been made to several charities in their names.

Give a gift, meet a need.

*Everything you’ve read to this point is my recollection of a radio ad from my youth. I can’t recall who wrote it, but I remember it was a holiday ad for a bank.  In any case, that’s where the story came from, even if my recollection isn’t word for word.

Walk as an Angel

They can fly
To be sure
That’s how they get to us so quickly.
But they leave footprints too
Escorting us through moments of decision
Prancing round us in moments of musing.
This doesn’t happen when we trudge
Through sorrow
Despair
Grief.
They hover 
Slightly above us
For urging us to look higher then
Is their job description.
But in traffic
The coffee line
The interminable meeting that could have been an email
The waiter who thought we said extra sauce
They walk
Hoping to elevate by example.
Lace up your shoes
And wear comfortable socks
Your feet will be etherealized 
Often today
If all goes well.

Like what you see? Subscribe for free!