Hello
friends,
As we wind our way towards the Christmas holidays, I sit by a photo of a fire, light my pipe
and think back on all of the really super special things I've done over the years. I imagine
the light in the poor children's eyes on Christmas morning when they see that my five dollar
donation to charity has purchased them a used doll, or maybe a saw. I look back on my
Christmas drives to help arrest hookers to get them off the streets and into jails where
they will be safe and warm.
People often ask me, however, what my fondest Christmas memory is. I have to chuckle and
act as if I have to search through my memory banks, but I always tell my best Christmas story. And now, I'd like to tell it to you so that you might be inspired to take a closer look at your meager contributions to the world and maybe become a better person by following in my “warmhearted" footsteps.
It was a cold, rainy December, not too many years ago, when a certain Middle Eastern country
was decimated by tragedy. Hundreds of people were driven from their homes by the tragic events.
People from around the world joined in sending relief to the stricken refugees. My
brother Kindheart and I decided to do something more, however. Instead of sitting at home
writing out checks like so many others, we hopped run on the next plane to this stricken land
to offer our services personally .
Once there, we were given the task of delivering bread to the refugees. We had a pickup truck
at our disposal to use for the delivery. We went to the warehouse to inspect the bread we be
giving the poor fools. As you might expect, the bread was stale and hard because it came from
faraway lands. But, we said to ourselves, "Bread is bread. They need us to bring it to them”
And so we did.
We loaded that truck with the stale bread roles. Kindheart got into the cab, I into the back. Then
we made our slow way out to the fields where the refugees waited for sustenance.
They must have been made aware of the timing of our arrival because as soon as we drove
through the gate we were mobbed. People were all around the truck, grabbing at the door,
grabbing at me, trying to grab that bread before I was ready to hand it out.
“Give it the gas!” I shouted at Kindheart, “They’re going to overrun us!” I heard the roar or of
the engine and watched as the refugees jumped for their very lives. Saved! But, they were
soon after us. Kindheart parked the truck about a half a mile away from where we had first
encountered them. It took them no more than five minutes to move their so-called feeble
bodies to where we waited for them. At first, I gently handed out the stale roles. I soon
discovered, however, to my dismay that only the strongest and hardiest of them were receiving
these gifts of life. I saw the weaker of them, bones broken, skin falling off, standing
behind the stronger with no hope of receiving bread for themselves or their starving families!
These poor, unfortunate souls were to become the people I would focus my
Warmhearted energies upon. Why should they not receive
bread? Why should only the strong and aggressive eat?! I knew
at that moment that the reason we had come was to ensure that the weak and
suffering would eat. How much more warmhearted can you get than
that, my friend?
My first plan was to exercise the stronger refugees into exhaustion. “Drive, Kindheart!” I said, “Drive about 5mph until I tell you to stop.” Kindheart did as I commanded.
As I guessed, the stronger ran after us, shouting in their gibberish language. One by
one they dropped. Kindheart then turned the truck around and gunned it towards them. With their
last breaths, many of them rolled out of the way. I thought at first that my courageous plan
had worked. But even amongst those who hung behind originally, those of the
weak, there were those who were
stronger than others. Yelling and cursing, their ragged clothes falling off of their bony
bodies, they came forward, demanding bread. “Fools!” I cried. “Infidels!” And then I
came up with my most brilliant plan to date. The stronger were up against the truck,
while the weaker hung behind. I started picking up rolls and firing them at the weak,
through the outstretched hands of the strong. I’d fake right and throw left, always at full
strength at the weak refugees. Off of their faces and bodies the stale rolls would bounce,
and I’d laugh as they flopped in the mud. In the spirit in which I was born, I was giving
help to those less fortunate than I. Kindheart would keep the engine idling so that the exhaust
fumes would deter the stronger, greedier of the howling mob. Then after a few minutes, he’d
drive another hundred or so feet away. We’d await them and when they finally made it to us,
the whole process would repeat.
Needless to say, after a week of daily feedings, my brother and I became as one of mind. It
seemed we each knew precisely what the other was thinking. Just when I’d feel overwhelmed by
the masses, I’d hold on tight to the side of the truck and he’d already be gunning it to a new
location. Oh, the memories of those ragged, filthy, disgusting, Godless hordes, with their
wild eyes and bread-created bruises. Yes, they may have been Godless, but my brother and I
became as Gods to them during our time there. Once we had exhausted the stale bread supply
for the day, we’d go back to our hotel, order room service and think back on the day’s events
and what a great thing it was that we were doing for the dogs.
For you see, if we had reached out and touched just one person, it had all been truly worthwhile.
I’d like to close this week’s message with a little Heartwarming tale that should inspire you all.
There was a mother, a father and a baby. I knew this family and knew that, during one especially cold Christmas season, their outlook was bleak.
For you see, the father had lost his job and had no hope of finding another. There was no food on the table and the mother and father slept little while they lay there listening to their baby cry out in hunger. I would often visit them in those days to watch the trial of Job they were going through.
My visits served to make me feel so lucky to have the fine home, car and yacht that I possessed. I even offered to take them sailing on that yacht, but they refused, saying that they could bring nothing to the pot luck.
But what would they do on Christmas Eve? They had nothing for dinner. And yet, when I stopped by to put pennies in their stockings, I saw that the mother had fixed a small dinner. It was a miraculous thing she had done. The young couple was able to eat that night and sleep no interruption from their baby ever again.
What did the couple eat?
Go to Warmheart's Weekly Tales
Go to "the inspiration for this wonderful and magical
tale"