An Enemy’s Christmas

The quarter sized snowflakes fell in unison. The rhythm and pace quickened as the precipitation accumulated. Over six inches of total snow arrived in just a few hours on that particular Christmas Eve in the small town of Castle Dale, Utah.

I was in a somewhat grumpy mood, as we loaded up the old green Chevy Suburban and headed down the road.

The destination this night was a small house on the other side of town. Boxes of presents were neatly wrapped and stacked in empty Sunkist orange boxes. With each turn, I could hear them slide gently back and forth in the back of the vehicle.

“Why them?” I asked.

In my 12 year old mind I did not understand why we were taking Christmas presents to this particular family. If someone ever had a reason to dislike another, I figured the events of the past few months would justify the bitterness I felt.

Just a few weeks prior, a scathing letter was published in the local newspaper that was critical of my father. I remember reading it one afternoon as I sat at the kitchen table.

“Mom, why would they say such mean things?” I inquired earnestly.

“I am not sure Isaac,” my mother replied, “Perhaps they just needed to vent and get what they were feeling out. It probably made them feel better writing it down.”

“Well,” I interjected, “It’s dumb. Not a word of what they said was true.”

Hating an enemy is what comes naturally. We hate in an effort to not allow them to continue to hurt us.

Inside I seethed. No one. No one. No one can say such vile things about my dad.

The simple fact that Mom and Dad didn’t seem at all bothered by it made me even more upset.

Yet, here we were, delivering Christmas to this very family.

“They just don’t deserve it,” I thought to myself.

As we turned off the main road and headed up the narrow road that lead up the hill, we crept along quietly. No lights. No sound. The snowfall helped damper out any audible signal of an approaching vehicle.

“Daniel and Isaac,” my dad quietly said, “I want you two to place these and knock on the door.

He continued, “Be quick. Run and hide and come back to the car without being seen.”

Daniel and I knew this would be the easy part. We were experts at doorbell ditching.

The delivery went flawlessly. We were out of sight when the porch light turned on and the front door opened.

“WOW!”, the small child’s voice pierced the snowy solitude, “Look at what Santa Claus brought us!”

The next statement pierced my heart.

“See, I knew he wouldn’t forget us!”

Several excited young voices joined in unison as the boxes were picked up and carried into the house. Then, in the blink of an eye, the porch light turned back off and the tranquility of a beautiful winter’s night returned.

A warm feeling overcame me as we arrived back at the car. The feelings of anger and resentment I had felt just moments before were no longer there. In their place was a feeling of love and what the true meaning of Christmas really is. We talked about how important it is to help and love others as we drove back home.

I thought about a bible passage that I had read so many times. “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:43-44) Certainly, this is not an idea that was taught only by Christ. Buddha, Gandhi, and many other great people and religions have nearly identical teachings.

It is a funny thing that I don’t remember much about any of the presents we received that year. I do, however, remember everything about giving Christmas to someone I considered an enemy.

29 years have now passed. Not a soul, besides my parents and siblings, knew who delivered the presents on that Christmas Eve.

The lesson I learned from my parents that year was not wasted on me.

Love is what makes all the difference. Herein is love, not that we first loved God, but that he loved us. Regardless of our acts, this love is unconditional. Poor or rich, young or old, religious or agnostic, His love remains as constant as the North Star.

I can assure you this is what Jesus really meant. And those words are just as true today as they have ever been. Has there ever been a time in our society where we needed to put this into practice more than now?

In one of the last recordings that the late Charley Pride released, he eloquently observes,

“He tells me money doesn’t matter

Nor the color of your skin

We could stumble or even fall, and still get up again

Cuz it ain’t about the deeds, good or bad that we have done

All we have to do is love to be disciples of the Son.”

May each of us take a moment to enjoy the simple things today. As long as there is a sunset, there will be always be moments of joy and gladness for each of us. May we love each other, even those that have wronged us. Giving this love will open our hearts and allow us to experience a new level of happiness.

I recollect with fondness the traditions my family shared. The presents are gone. The shoes and clothes are all worn out, but the memories remain. The true meaning of Christmas is, after all, about love. Our Christmases were centered around family. We were together. How grateful I am for that. A quick trip down memory lane rapidly brings back the joy and love I felt on that special Christmas Eve while growing up in Castle Dale.

Merry Christmas!

N. Isaac Bott, DVM