I thought I would
reshare this story that happened to my family when I was young. I know I
shared it last year, but stories like these are good every year. Plus this
version was written by my sister. Enjoy!
The Christmas Coat
It began with the Christmas of 1990. Christmas has always been our familyʼs favorite time of year. We
love it. For several months my father had been praying that our family would come to know the real
meaning of Christmas. He had in his mind that the Lord would show us someone that we could help. But
the true spirit of Christmas came to us in a much different way that year.
The Sunday before Christmas that year was a clear, bitterly-cold morning. My family was greeted by
knee-deep snow and a -20 degree temperature as we exited the van in the parking area that surrounds
the modest church building in Dulce, N.M.. Although the wind was not blowing, the frigid air drove us into
the church. We had driven the 73 miles to Dulce in the hopes that the Saints there would brave these
conditions and attend church meetings.
When the time for starting the meetings had come and gone,my father stepped outside hoping to see a
vehicle filled with Jicarilla Apache Lamanites. He was not disappointed in this because, as he rounded
the corner, a station wagon carrying a single mother and her five children pulled into the parking area. As
they got out, my parents noticed that the mother and her oldest son did not have coats. The mother wore
only a blouse and the oldest son, a T-shirt. The other children had coats.
My parents could never endure the suffering of others. Their motto being,“Because I have been given
much, I, too, must give...,” the only logical thing for them to do was to give away their coats--Dadʼs to the
boy and Momʼs to the mother. To this day, they do not feel that in giving their coats away they did an
extraordinary thing. It was something that needed to be done, so they did it. They felt that they had so
much, while this family had so little.
(While this is the way my parents felt, they had very little in the way of worldly things. Dad was a high
school teacher and Mom stayed home and cared for our family of eight children. Our basic needs were
met and we were rich in love and in the knowledge of Jesus Christ.)
Fortunately, my parent had previously ordered Mom a winter coat and it had arrived and was to be a
Christmas gift. It only needed to be picked up. Dad, however, did not have another coat.
They should have guessed that something was up when Mom received a phone call asking her that if by
giving up her coat, she was without a coat. But they didnʼt.
On Christmas Eve, we spent the early evening at our friendsʼ home, singing, eating and being together.
When we arrived home, we were surprised to see that someone had been there in our absence. On the
couch was a large, beautifully wrapped box addressed to my father. When he read the words written on
the outside of the box, we knew what was inside. As he withdrew a beautiful, maroon coat, tears clouded
our vision. The Christmas spirit my father had sought permeated the room and embraced us.
And though the years have had claim upon that lovely, warm coat, nothing will erase the memory of that
evening in 1990 when we experienced the real meaning of Christmas through an anonymous gift.
