Pa and The Rifle
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 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.
After supper was over I
took my boots off and stretc hed 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 again 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 this 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 high sideboards on.
After 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 thismorning. 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 of flour. 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. He
turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that
fire 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 as 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 with so much gratitude in her heart
that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never
known before, filled my soul. 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 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 brothers and two sisters had all married and
had moved away. Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother 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 t own 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.
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.
Now 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 Jensen's,
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.
~by
Rian B. Anderson~
