It all began because my husband Mike
hated Christmas.
Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas,
but the commercial aspects of it.
You know, the overspending,
the frantic running around at
the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry
and the dusting powder for Grandma,
the gifts given in desperation
because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way,
I decided one year to bypass the usual
shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth.
I reached for something
special just for Mike.

The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year,
was wrestling at the junior
level at the school he attended.
Shortly before Christmas,
there was a non-league match against a team
sponsored by an inner city church.
The kids were mostly black.
These youngsters, dressed in sneakers
so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be
the only thing holding them together,
presented a sharp contrast to our boys
in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and
sparkling new wrestling shoes.

As the match began,
I was alarmed to see that the other team
was wrestling without head gear,
a kind of light helmet designed to
protect a wrestler's ears.
It was a luxury the ragtag team
obviously couldn't afford.
Well, we ended up walloping them.
We took every weight class.
And as each of their boys
got up from the mat, he swaggered
around in his tatters with false bravado,
a kind of street pride
that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly,
"I wish just one of them could have won,"
he said. "They have a lot of potential,
but losing like this could take the heart
right out of them."

Mike loved kids-all kids.
He understood kids in competitive situations,
having coached little league football,
baseball and lacrosse.
That's when the idea for his present came.

That afternoon, I went to a local
sporting goods store and bought an assortment
of wrestling headgear and shoes and
sent them anonymously to the inner city church.

On Christmas Eve,
I placed the envelope on the tree,
the note inside telling Mike what I had done
and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest thing
about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

For each Christmas,
I followed the tradition -
one year sending a group of mentally challenged
youngsters to a hockey game,
another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers
whose home had burned to the ground
the week before Christmas -
on and on...

The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas.
It was always the last thing opened
on Christmas morning and our children,
ignoring their new toys,
would stand with wide-eyed anticipation
as their dad lifted the envelope
from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew,
the toys gave way to more practical presents,
but the envelope never lost its allure.
Still, the story doesn't end there.

You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer.
When Christmas rolled around,
I was still so wrapped in grief
that I barely got the tree up.
Yet Christmas Eve found me
placing an envelope on the tree,
and in the morning,
it was joined by three more.
Each of our children,
unbeknownst to the others,
had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.

The tradition has grown and
someday will expand even further,
with our grandchildren standing
around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation,
watching as their fathers
take down their envelopes.

Mike's spirit, like the spirit of Christmas,
will always be with us.
(Unknown)

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me,
all tired from play.
He stood right before me
with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement,
"Look at what I found."

In his hand was a flower,
and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn-not enough rain,
or to little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower
and go off to play,
I faked a small smile
and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating
he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and
Declared with overacted surprise,
"It sure smells pretty
and it's beautiful, too.
That's why I picked it;
here, it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it,
or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied,
"Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it midair without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed
for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see:
he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver,
tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking
the very best one.
You're welcome," he smiled,
and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered
how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman
beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart,
he'd been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child,
at last I could see
The problem was not with the world;
the problem was me.
And for all of those times
I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life,
and appreciate every second that's mine.

And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance
of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy,
another weed in his hand
About to change the life
of an unsuspecting old man.
(author unknown)

Deep in the southwest deserts,
an old medicine man and
young brave stand atop a great plateau.
Together, they silently survey all the earth.

After what seems like ages
of absorbing all that can be seen,
the old man taps
his medicine stick on the ground.
From twelve different directions
great streaks of lightning strike the earth,
and from each place the lightning strikes,
twelve great stones begin to form.
As the stones form,
the old man begins to sing an ancient song.

Drawn, irresistibly, by the old man's song,
the twelve great stones slowly weave
their way through the vast obstacles
that stand between them and the plateau.
They pass over enormous mountains
and vast stretches of water.
They roll through dense forests and jungles.
They cross great deserts and glaciers --
growing stronger, larger, and more powerful
with each passing moment.

Finally, all twelve stones reach the mesa
and silently gather around the old man and brave.

"You see these twelve great stones?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

"Build a sacred circle with them."

With prayerfulness and great care,
the brave gathers the stones
and places them in a sacred circle.
"Do you know what you have done, my son?"

"I have built a medicine wheel."

"Yes. Go now and show me your place.
Walk into the Sacred Circle
and sit upon the stone
that represents your position
in the Great Circle of Life."

As the brave moves
towards the Sacred Circle,
the old man begins to chant --
and all twelve stones begin to glow.

For a few moments, the young brave
prayerfully circles the medicine wheel
trying to find the stone that represents
his particular place:
His personality and temperament,
his strengths and weaknesses;
but none of them feels right to him,
so he chooses the one that best seems to fit:
he chooses the Red Man Stone and sits on it.

But after a few moments,
his seat begins to smoke
and he leaps off the great stone
calling out in pain.

"The Red Man Stone is red hot!"
The old man looks at him
and smiles mischievously.

"Perhaps you are not meant to be
a Red Man this life.
Try another stone."

Worried and confused now,
the young brave stares
at the glowing circle of stones.

For a long time he stares and refuses to move.

He calms his mind. He concentrates.
He carefully studies the texture, shape,
color and size of each great stone,
searching for the one
that feels most like him.

Finally, the young brave takes a deep breath,
asks the Great Spirit for help
and walks over to the White Man Stone.
But as soon as he sits upon the great rock,
his seat begins to smoke,
and he leaps off screaming again.

"The White Man Stone is red hot, too!"

Seeming to delight in the young brave's dilemma,
the old man answers,
"Then you are not meant to be a White Man
in this life. Try again."

More perplexed than ever,
the young brave tries again,
this time choosing the Oriental Stone --
with the same results:
His seat catches on fire
and he leaps up again!

"ALL OF THESE STONES ARE RED HOT!!!
How do you expect me to find my place
in the Great Circle
if I cannot sit on any stone?"

The old man smiles and looks deeply
into the young brave's eyes.
"Perhaps you are not meant to sit
on any single stone this life.
Perhaps you are meant
to hop from stone to stone."

"Then I shall have no place
to sit in the Sacred Circle!"

"Perhaps your place is the Hopping Place --
which is no place, and all places;
the last place we must master before
we can leave this world
and join the Great Spirit Who lives
in the center of the Great Circle."

Stunned by the old man's revelation,
the young brave is silent.
As if struck by some great bolt of lightning,
he cannot move or speak.
He can only tremble as new thoughts
and feelings rush into his mind and heart.

For a few moments,
the old man leaves the brave to his thoughts.
Then he speaks again.

"Listen."

The young brave listens and begins to hear
the twelve stones arguing.

"Do you hear the stones arguing with one another?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

"And do you know why they argue so,
day and night,
age upon age,
without ceasing?"

"Because they do not understand one another?"

"Yes. And do you know why they do not understand
one another?"

"No."

"Because they sit in one place all the time
and can not yet hop as you do."

The old man looks deep into the eyes
of the brave and then continues.

"Since you are a hopper,
your job is to hop from stone to stone
and help them understand one another.
If you do this, my son,
you shall find peace in your heart
and help bring peace and happiness
to the Great Medicine Wheel of Life.
This is the task
the Great Spirit has given you."

Another long silence descends
upon the old man and brave.
They both stare at the glowing
red stones for a long time.
At last, the old man turns
to the brave and speaks again.

"Remember this vision, my son,
and share it with those
whom the Great Spirit sends to you.
For this vision is not only given to you.
It is also given to the other stone
hoppers who have come to the earth
to unite the Great Medicine Wheel of Life."
(David Sunfellow)