A Christmas Story – The Rifle
By Rian B. Anderson

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who
squandered their means and then never had enough for
the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need,
his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from
him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes
from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old
and feeling like the world had caved in on me
because there just hadn't been enough money to
buy me the rifle that I'd wanted so bad that
year for Christmas.

We did the chores early that night for some reason.
I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we
could read in the Bible. So after supper was over
I took my boots off and stretched out in front of
the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the
old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself
and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to
read scriptures.

But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up
and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because
we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry
about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in
self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold
clear night out and there was ice in his beard.
"Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold
out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't
I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging
me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that
I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and
I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing,
especially not on a night like this.

But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's
feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up
and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and
mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened
the door to leave the house. Something was up, but
I didn't know what. Outside, I became even more
dismayed. There in front of the house was the
work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever
it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short,
quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched
up the big sled unless we were going to haul a big load.
Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I
reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already
biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa
pulled the sled around the house and stopped in
front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed.
"I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said.
"Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a
bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low
sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to
do would be a lot bigger with the highsideboards on.
When we had exchanged the sideboards Pa went into
the woodshed and came out with an armload of
wood---the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down
from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into
blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I
said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked.
The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road.
Her husband had died a year or so before and left
her with three children, the oldest being eight.
Sure, I'd been by, but so what? "Yeah," I said,
"why?"
"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was
out digging around in the woodpile trying to find
a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That
was all he said and then he turned and went back
into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I
followed him. We loaded the sled so high that
I began to wonder if the horses would be able
to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading,
then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a
big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me
and told me to put them in the sled and wait.
When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour
over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of
something in his left hand. "What's in the
little sack?" I asked. "Shoes. They're out of
shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped
around his feet when he was out in the woodpile
this morning. I got the children a little candy
too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a
little candy." We rode the two miles to Widow
Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to
think through what Pa was doing. We didn't
have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did
have a big woodpile, though most of what was
left now was still in the form of logs that
I would have to saw into blocks and split before
we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so
we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have
any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and
candy? Really, why was he doing any of this?
Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us.
It shouldn't have been our concern. We came in
from the blind side of the Jensen house and
unloaded the wood as quietly as possible,
then we took the meat and flour and shoes to
the door. We knocked. The door opened a
crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?"
"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could
we come in for a bit?" Widow Jensen opened
the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped
around her shoulders. The children were wrapped
in another and were sitting in front of the
fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave
off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a
match and finally lit the lamp. "We brought you
a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the
sack offlour. I put the meat on the table. Then
Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.
She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out
one pair at a time. There was a pair for her
and one for each of the children sturdy shoes,
the best, shoes that would last. I watched her
carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from
trembling and then tears filled her eyes and
started running down her cheeks. She looked
up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it
wouldn't come out. "We brought a load of wood
too, Ma'am," Pa said, then he turned to me and
said, "Matt, go bring enough in to last for
awhile. Let's get that fir up to size and
heat this place up." I wasn't the same person
when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a
big lump in my throat and, much as I hate to admit
it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I
kept seeing those three kids huddled around the
fireplace and their mother standing there with
tears running down her cheeks and so much
gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.
My heart swelled within me and a joy filled
my soul that I'd never known before. I had
given at Christmas many times before, but
never when it had made so much difference.
I could see we were literally saving the lives of
these people. I soon had the fire blazing and
everyone's spirits soared. The kids started
giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of
candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that
probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time.
She finally turned to us. "God bless you,"
she said. "I know the Lord himself has sent you.
The children and I have been praying that he
would send one of his angels to spare us."
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my
throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.
I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before,
but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could
see that it was probably true. I was sure that a
better man than Pa had never walked the earth.
I started remembering all the times he had
gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others.
The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before
we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered
how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed
that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the
Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again
when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the
kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung
to him and didn't want us to go. I could see
that they missed their pa, and I was glad that
I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said,
"The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children
over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey
will be more than the three of us can eat, and
a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey
for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about
eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones
around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for
quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two older
brothers and two older sisters were all married and
had moved away.Widow Jensen nodded and said,
"Thank you, Lucas Miles. I don't have to say,
"'May the Lord bless you,' I know for certain
that He will." Out on the sled I felt a warmth
that came from deep within and I didn't even
notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa
turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to
know something. Your ma and me have been
tucking a little money away here and there
all year so we could buy that rifle for you,
but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday
a man who owed me a little money from years back
came by to make things square. Your ma and me
were real excited, thinking that now we could
get you that rifle, and I started into town
this morning to do just that. But on the way
I saw little Jakey out scratching in the
woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks
and I knew what I had to do. So, Son, I spent
the money for shoes and a little candy for
those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with
tears again. I understood very well, and I was
so glad Pa had done it. Just then the rifle seemed
very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given
me a lot more. He had given me the look on
Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her
three children. For the rest of my life,
whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a
block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought
back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa
that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle
that night, he had given me the best Christmas
of my life.

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