SIMPLE WHITE ENVELOPE

It's just a small white envelope stuck among the branches of our
Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has
peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas -- oh, not the true
meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it -- 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 jun or level at the school he
attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against
a team sponsored by an inner-city church.

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 headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a
wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not 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 -- and he knew them, 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 handicapped 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, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last
thing opened on Chris tmas 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. 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. But
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 the envelope.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May
we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true
Christmas spirit this year and always. God Bless! -- pass this along to
those friends and loved ones who you know are the givers who understand
the true meaning of Thanksgiving and Christmas