Greatest Gifts

It wasn't shaping up to be a great Christmas. But why should it, the year hadn't produced the miracles I so desperately wanted.

Two thousand and seven had been a tough year. Not just the war and government leadership disasters, and economic worries, but this has been the year when I had to face that my husband who can do anything. ANYTHING! Well, I had to face that he just might not be able to shake off the disease that has him in its clutches.

The clues have been piling up -- shortness of breath, weak muscles from head to toe. But when he suggested that he should get a wheelchair, I knew he had accepted that the doctors were probably right. It was time to give him quality of life, as good as technology and substitutes for his body could provide.

So a deluxe power chair sits in our garage and next year we add the ramps, the custom fit van and whatever else we need to make it possible for him to perambulate wherever he wants or needs to go.

He was a tough linebacker in middle school when I first met him. He played through high school, college and went semi-pro, relishing the challenge and the physical clash as a pigskin warrior. He continued with the game as a referee, running up and down the field in a striped shirt and white knickers, armed with whistle and flag. When the season ended, he exchanged the knickers for black slacks and refereed basketball -- his second love. He was always doing -- helping with sports, mentoring kids in 4-H. He particularly adored the rocket projects. He and the other leaders were as enthusiastic about shooting projectiles in the air as any kid.

He still loves the Three Stoodges and at this time of year, wipes a tear whenever Tiny Tim declares, "God Bless Us Everyone." Now he's beginning to identify with Tiny Tim a bit more than we ever expected and I don't see some redeemed Scrooge coming to save the day. But I haven't totally given up hope.

You see gifts keep appearing in the strangest places. Yesterday was a prime example. I opened my emails to find a YES from an editor in a dream market I'd been hoping to sell to. Yes, yes, yes. And she offered me the most I have ever received in payment for an essay -- it should just about cover Christmas expenses. (Whew! Ordering online is too easy.)

Then, last night, after a delightful Christmas party at work, a day spent among friends and smiles and laughter, I came home to tidy up before Derrol's friend came over to watch, what else, the football game.

When the doorbell rang, I expected to see his smiling face. Instead a gigantic poinsettia greeted me in the voice of our neighbor, John. He peeked his head out from behind the plant and grinned, "Merry Christmas. I'm playing Santa." Then he swallowed and thrust the poinsettia into my arms as he said, "God bless you and Derrol. God bless you."

And I knew he was seeing us on that day a couple of months ago when we first took Derrol's wheelchair out for a walk around the neighborhood. John had been working in his yard and it was his first clue that things were not well with us. It was a shock to him to see his sturdy neighbor sitting in a wheelchair. I could hear his words from that day ringing between the lines of his Christmas wish -- "I'll be right here -- whatever you need. Just let me know." So when I see this huge flower dwarfing my dining room table, I know it is John's way of saying, "I'm still here -- whatever you need."

Derrol's friend showed up and he came bearing gifts. To my surprise one was a gift bag for me. I opened it to find a lovely pressed glass candy dish -- how did he know I love all things glass? And beneath it was a bag of Derrol's favorite candies to put in the dish. But, he gave me one more gift. He turned to me and said, "Merry Christmas," and then he gave me a hug.

As my husband weakens, Tom has been there working in the yard, helping at the office so Derrol can stay employed, being a friend, never saying anything, just doing. That hug told me, he understands that Derrol's not the only one having a tough time.

If anyone doubts that there are angels on earth -- they just need to come to my house. I'll introduce you to two of my favorites: John and Tom. Two of my greatest gifts this holiday season -- and all year long.

Of course if I were to list all of my angels, it would take a much longer blog. You know who you are I hope -- Mary, Deb, Peggy, Linda, my brother and his wife, Lyn, Kathi, Gary, Joyce M., Mona, ... you all prop me up when I need it, keep me balanced and smiling and I couldn't last one day without you.

Angels All Around Us

By Dawn Goldsmith

I’m a firm believer that we share this earth with angels.

But those winged Biblical hosts were far from my thoughts as my two sons, husband and I drove home from a last minute shopping trip. Our minds were on the upcoming camping trip. The boys chatted in the back seat about the big fish they’d bring home. “But I’m not going to eat them. Noooo way,” Nick, our eight-year-old, red-haired picky eater declared.

“Me either,” his pre-teen brother said in one of those rare moments when they agreed on something.

Our car trunk overflowed with fishing gear, foods to cook over a campfire and various necessities from hot dog forks to mosquito repellent. Derrol drove the familiar street that led away from the shopping mall and toward the little farming community where we lived. I sat in the front passenger seat, Nick sat behind me twisting and manipulating his favorite transformer toy. His older brother, Dave sat behind his Dad.

Anticipation filled the car that sunny summer day.

We approached the intersection. I looked at the car and the woman driving it as she slowed for the stop sign at the cross street.

Sometimes I get premonitions. I felt her disconnection and knew she didn’t see us. I opened my mouth to suggest Derrol slow down, when the woman sped up, heading her car directly at us.

My husband hit the horn and the brakes at the same time. There was room for us to miss each other if the woman braked. Instead, she pressed harder on the gas and her car flew into the intersection. We learned later that in her panic, she hit the gas pedal thinking it was the brake.

As most will tell you, time during a crisis slows down and every detail crystallizes like facets of a prism. Our brakes locked and the nose of the car jerked down as the woman’s car slammed into us. Between the sudden stop and the impact, we were thrown around like rag dolls.

My husband gasped for breath and fought the car and the pain as his clavicle snapped. My head grazed the windshield before my seat belt tightened and threw me back in my seat. I felt Nick’s face hit the back of my seat and saw Dave fly forward into Derrol’s seat. Their cries frightened me more than the accident. I struggled to get out of my seat belt. I frantically beat on the door. One thought, one instinct led me, “I must get the boys out of the car.”

I couldn’t help my husband and I couldn’t get the door open. I couldn’t reach my children and we all needed to get out of the car in case it would catch fire or explode.

We were trapped.

Suddenly from out of nowhere a crowd of people surrounded the two cars.

A burly older man wrenched open my door while a man and woman ministered to my husband and helped him and our oldest son out of the car. I rushed to the back door. It stood open filled with a young man who was pulling off the most beautiful multi-colored sweater. He stuffed it under my son’s bloody nose and murmured encouragement.

“You’re OK. It’s just a nosebleed. You’ll be fine. Man, you’re one brave kid.”

Silly how concern over a spoiled garment would even cross my mind. But it did. I even reached to stop him from putting the lovely garment to my son’s face, and then felt ashamed that I would even consider the garment more than my son’s need.

Nick scrambled out of the car and into my arms and the young man with his sweater stepped away. I thought of the Bible story about Joseph and his coat of many colors and above my son’s head, I tearfully thanked him and asked his name.

If he told me, I don’t remember.

In the following minutes paramedics came to check our injuries and police asked questions for their reports. Thankfully no one suffered serious injuries. In the following days we could feel the bump where the two pieces of my husband’s clavicle rejoined and we laughed about our bruises and stiff muscles.

I never again saw the people who ministered to us. For almost three decades, I’ve thought often of the young man in his colorful sweater who selflessly ministered to a frightened child. He earned this mother’s prayers through the years and my heartfelt thanks.