Gifts Wrapped in Love

By Charles Mills

“How can she live there?” Heidi whispered to her mom. “That house is terrible.”

Heidi pressed her nose against the cold window glass of the car as Mother drove home from the store. The girl was excited because in two days it would be Christmas.

“Oh look,” she said, pointing toward a young girl walking along the snowy sidewalk at the edge of town. “That’s Cindy. She’s in my class at school!”

Heidi was about to roll down the window and shout “Merry Christmas” when she saw the girl turn and start walking up to a house tucked between a small grocery store and a gas station. The words stuck in her throat. The house was barely standing, its foundation crumbling and porch roof tilted to one side. There was trash in the yard, and an old car up on cement blocks rested in the gravel driveway.

“How can she live there?” Heidi whispered to her mom. “That house is terrible.”

Her mother nodded. “It sure is. I’m certain they’d like to live somewhere else if they could.”

Heidi sat back in her seat and thought for a long moment as the car continued its journey home. She was quiet during supper and didn’t even laugh when her older brother accidentally dropped his sandwich on his lap. When Mother reminded her that it was her turn to wash the dishes, she just said, “OK,” and went and did it.

“Are you alright?” Mother asked, standing in the doorway of Heidi’s room later that evening. “You’re not your usual energetic self. Are you sick?”

“No,” the girl responded. “I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

“About Cindy. I don’t think she’s going to have a very nice Christmas. They can’t even afford to fix the porch, or their car. And, come to think of it, at lunchtime at school, Cindy eats a lot of food, like she’s really hungry. Then she takes some extra crackers and apples and puts them in her book bag. I thought she just liked to eat.” The girl paused. “But now I think she’s taking food home to her mother. That’s so sad. What can I do to help her?”

“That’s not the right question,” her mom stated quietly.

“It’s not?”

“No. You should ask yourself, ‘Am I willing to help her?’ If you are, you’ll figure out what to do.”

A tear slipped down Heidi’s soft cheek. “I’m willing, Mom. I really am.”

Early the next morning, Mother found her daughter deep in her messy closet, shuffling around like a mouse looking for cheese. “What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

“Being willing,” the girl stated with a smile. “I’m gathering up clothes that don’t fit me so good anymore and toys and stuff I don’t play with much. Oh, and I’d like for you to bake some of those coconut cookies—you know, the ones with the yellow frosting.” “Sure. Is there a special occasion coming up?”

“Sort of,” the girl said with a smile. “I’m making a Christmas box for Cindy. She and I are almost the same size, and I know she likes the same kind of dolls I like. When I’m done, I’m going to take them to her house with that baby Jesus figurine I bought a couple years ago. Oh, and the cookies. I know she likes cookies.” The girl paused. “Just one problem. We don’t have any more Christmas wrapping paper.”

Mother sat down on the bed. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You can wrap your gifts in love. Cindy and her mom will be so pleased. You’re giving her a wonderful Christmas gift.”

Heidi held up a colorful doll dress. “You mean this?” she asked.

“No,” Mother said. “You’re willing. That’s the best gift of all.”

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