Eight days before Christmas 1995, I said goodbye to my family as I entered a training center for volunteers bound for countries all over the world. In my group, there were 12 young men. 4 of our group didn’t speak any English and 8 spoke little Spanish. We were scheduled to send the next three months living, learning, laughing, crying, and serving together.
Two days before Christmas, we decided on a simple gift exchange with a maximum price limit of $5. While snow fell outside, the twelve of us sat together in a meeting room exchanging rolls of film, small notepads, lint rollers, the odd assortment of candy, and broken expressions of gratitude in languages we barely spoke.
We were all committed to spending the next two years of our lives serving others in countries some of us still couldn’t find easily on a map. For some, the days leading up to and following Christmas were hard. It was the first time most of us had been away from our parents for an extended period of time as most of us were barely nineteen years old.
The following year, I had been in Guatemala for almost ten months. Christmas in Guatemala back then was less about extravagant gifts and more about the time spent with family and friends; the way Christmas should be. We had the privilege of sharing short messages of joy and hope with people on their doorsteps and on crowded streets. We ended the day with two of the biggest meals I ate during my nearly two years in the country, meals that were prepared specifically for us by people who had little in terms of this world’s riches.
That was more than twenty-five years ago, but still rings in my memory of one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. Don’t get my wrong, I’ve loved watching the dazzle and delight in my children’s eyes as they’ve opened presents early Christmas morning, but the simplicity of that Christmas is something I hope I always remember.
Fast forward twenty years. I received a call on Christmas, about midday, that a good friend’s granddaughter, who had come from another state, fell tragically ill on Christmas morning and had to be rushed to the hospital. A simple but profound sense of urgency came over me that I needed to be with these people I hardly knew because they were the children of some of my dear friends.
Armed with nothing more than a couple of meals in brown paper bags, I set out on icy roads for the hospital. I arrived and spent a few hours with the children of my friends as they waited anxiously for test results on their daughter. Gratefully, a short time after that incident she made a fully recovery.
That experience created a lasting bond between us, one that has endured for nearly a decade. I had the chance to see them recently, and their daughter, now a beautiful young woman, has grown into someone full of life. Seeing them fills my heart with a profound sense of love and gratitude.
All that from a simple sack lunch shared in a hospital room on an icy Christmas day.
Over the years, I’ve thought back on those Christmases a lot. I’ve also allowed myself to become somewhat jaded by the over-commercialization of Christmas. The real joy of Christmas isn’t found in glittering packages or the perfect decorations, but in the quieter moments of connection, gratitude, and service.
Through our simple gift exchange on that snowy night, the broken words we shared, the meals prepared by those who gave more than they could afford, and a moment spent comforting grieving parents, I came to understand that the heart of Christmas lies in giving out of love, not abundance. Giving from abundance is easy; giving from love takes effort.
Serving others has a way of stripping away the distractions of the season and reminding us of what matters: reaching out, lifting others, and sharing a part of ourselves. Serving others makes Christmas become more than a holiday. It makes it a celebration of what’s best in each of us.
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