It was
November, 1976.
I had just moved back to
Jacksonville, Florida, with my
three young daughters after
many years away. We were
struggling, and I wondered
what kind of a Thanksgiving I
was going to be able to have
for my children.
We were living in a small
trailer, and I was looking for
a job while trying to convince
my girls, and myself, that
this was all an adventure.
My youngest child, Helen,
was barely three years old.
But from the beginning of her
first lisped words, Helen
seemed to have a sense of
decency and wisdom way beyond
her years. The children were
all excited about
Thanksgiving. The anticipated
feast was all the girls talked
about.
Two days before
Thanksgiving, there was a
flash fire in a nearby home,
and a young family lost
everything. The entire
community became involved in
the rescue of the couple and
their young daughter. Shelter
was donated by a church, and
it seemed that everyone was
involved in the collection of
food, household items, bedding
and clothes. I was thankful
that even I was able to spare
a few things.
Brigades of busy people
willingly donated their time,
as well as
money. I was certain the
tragedy was especially hard
for the family this close to
Thanksgiving, and I was
grateful that someone was
available to come to our house
and pick up our donated
items. Helen was very
thoughtful for one so young,
and I made myself a little
crazy imagining what she must
be thinking about the fire.
Finally, on the afternoon
before Thanksgiving, two
lovely women came to our house
to collect our donations. How
I wished I had more to give, I
said, as I helped carry the
donations out. They reassured
me that the family would be
well provided for. The girls
and I stood outside chatting,
as the ladies climbed back
into their station wagon.
All of a sudden Helen
shrieked, " WAIT! Don't
anybody move!"
She streaked into the
trailer door, crying aloud,
"WE FORGOT SOMETHING!"
I looked apologetically
at the ladies, but before I
could follow her, Helen was
back outside, holding onto her
favorite teddy bear -- the
bear that I had made for her
birthday, just two months
before. Helen held out the
bear, her green eyes searching
my face.
"Mommy," Helen implored,
"the little girl doesn't have
any toys. She needs this
bear! I have to give it to
her." My heart quaked. I
thought about the few toys
Helen had and how many hours I
had spent sewing that little
bear. Now she wanted to give
it away.
We stood in stunned
silence, the ladies staring at
me. I struggled with my
feelings. All the love I'd
put into that bear. All the
things we needed and didn't
have. Surely Helen could find
another toy.
Then I stooped down to
face Helen, who was still
holding out the bear -- worry
lines creasing her little
forehead. I searched her
little heart shaped face, my
fingers brushing aside her
red-gold hair. My eyes filled
as I realized that my heart
would never be as big as the
heart pounding in that little
chest.
My voice broke, as I
said, "Of course, Helen,
you're right. We forgot the
toy. How thoughtful of you to
remember." Helen, grinning,
handed over the beautiful
bear.
When the ladies drove
away, I took my little girl
and held her close. For she
had made our Thanksgiving the
richest Thanksgiving of all.
Jaye Lewis
Thanksgiving is the
harvest of the heart,
After the fruit and
grain are stored away;
A season for
remembering,
Taking time to give
and pray.