So one Thursday morning you wake up.
You have been blessed by some wonderful surprises recently, but still,
the stresses of life are weighing you down.
Sitting heavy on your shoulders.
And you still are worried about Christmas.
Trying to come up with creative answers about why Santa will not be bringing this present.
Or that present.
Snow days have rearranged schedules and made it so that your kids have 4 Christmas parties on the same morning.
You are rushing around.
Before you pull out of the driveway, you grab yesterday’s mail out of the mailbox and throw it on the passenger seat.
You rush to one party.
Then the next,
Then the next.
And after the last party, you go out to your car and you just sit.
You look over at the the pile of mail on the front seat of your car.
You open a couple of Christmas cards.
And then you open this one.
Holy shit. $200.
Yes, you believe that will alleviate some worry.
And so, since your dad is already at home babysitting, you call and ask him if you can take an extra hour to go to Costco.
He answers with, “You better do that,” and you pull into the Costco parking lot smiling.
And still in shock.
Because in your garage you have a collection of used toys that some of your friends have given you, that you are going to give to your kids for Christmas.
They are wonderful, and your kids will love them.
But there is something about being able to buy a brand new toy for your children.
You get a cart and head straight to where the books are. You see some that you know your kids are going to love.
You put them in your cart.
You haven’t been able to by a brand new anything for your kids,
without stealing from Peter to pay Paul,
in a long, long time.
And then you see the Pillow Pets.
You pick out 5 of them, and you put them in your cart.
And then, you hear this.
The Canadian Tenors are singing Hallelujah.
You look up and you are standing directly under a speaker.
Your cart is full of Pillow Pets and books,
and you feel like they are singing only to you.
You look at your cart,
you look at the money in your purse,
and you sob.
Angels among us.
You drive home filled with the Christmas Spirit.
You get home just after your husband.
He has put another pile of mail and a white plastic garbage bag on the dining room table.
You look in the bag first.
Lots of them.
All the perfect size for your seven-year-old.
You are pretty sure you know the angel who dropped those off.
They come again.
The song is still playing in your head.
You move to today’s pile of mail.
You see this:
The last time you got one of those, it was from a credit card company.
And it wasn’t good.
You opt for the bad news first.
With one eye closed, you open it.
And you pull out this:
You have been telling your 7-year-old, who has been begging for weeks to go see Frozen, that we will wait and rent it when it comes out.
“Mom! We NEVER go to the movies!” she says.
You haven’t taken your kids to the movies in over 2 years.
It’s just too expensive.
How Todd Ingersoll Automotive got your address, you have no idea.
Again, you sob.
The Canadian Tenors are still singing to you.
You sit down.
And you pick up the next envelope.
You open it, and you read this:
I believe there are angels in the world today,
whether they know it or not…
angels who add light to every life they touch.
And you, my friend, are one of them.
Another gift card.
Your Guardian Angel.
Those Canadians are still singing in your head.
There is one unopened envelope left.
Your name is on it, but it doesn’t feel like a Christmas card.
Maybe you should just stop now.
Go out on a high note.
You decide to open it.
And then you just
I really don’t know what to say.
Except for thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.