The Christmas Package.(Kevin Hughes) “Here you go, my last delivery on Christmas Eve. Merry Christmas.”

With that, and a big smile, the FEDEX driver sped off to turn in his truck and go home to celebrate the Holiday.

Mrs. Stevens just looked at the box. It was pretty big, about the size of a washing machine. It was heavy too, or maybe just bulky. Whichever it was the guy had to use a dolly to lug it up to the house. She was so glad he brought it not only up the steep steps of the porch, but took it right into the family room for her. She didn’t have a man around the house, nor any grown boy children to help. It was just her and her two girls. A five year old and a four year old are not what you need to lift a box that big, even though they both scampered around shouting their willingness to help.

“Mommy, what is it? Is it a gift? Is it from Santa? Is it ours?”

The questions came at her like they were being spit out as fast as little tongues and brains could put the sentences together. It made Mrs. Stevens smile. She had her own unanswered questions. After all, you don’t have to be four or five on Christmas to be surprised or delighted.

“I don’t know. It is for us, see?”

And she pointed to a packing label on the side of the big box: “ To Mrs. Stevens and the girls. Merry Christmas.”

That’s all. No return address. Nothing to give away who sent it, or why.

“Can we open it? Please?!”

Both girls were squirming with anticipation now, cuteness bubbling out into their pleadings. It made Mrs. Stevens smile. And God knows she hadn’t smiled on a Christmas in three years. For a moment, her joy was dampened. A silly freak accident and her Alex was gone. No one was to blame. It was a one in a million event, except all she won was the misery lottery. If Alex hadn’t bought that little insurance policy to pay off the house if he died, she wouldn’t even have a home for her children. She thanked him once again, with a silent prayer of gratitude for his forethought. They had a home. Their only income was her job at the Big Box Store- and like everyone else there, she had no benefits, and could only work 32 hours a week. Struggle was not only a verb, but a position she was stuck in. But the girls shrieks and pleadings were breaking through her melancholy, and her own curiosity bubbled back to the surface, breaking out in both a smile and the present moment.

“Yes. Cindy, get me the scissors.”

Well, Cindy didn’t have to be told twice. Towing her little sister behind her like some kind of life like teddy bear, she raced her little legs to the sewing box on the scraps table. She was careful to hold the scissors by the blades, with the twin green handles stick out the top of her tiny balled clenched fist. If she fell, the point would go in the floor and not her eye. She was proud that she knew that, and that she didn’t run back to Mom, but she did kind of scamper. Macey still in tow.

“Here Mommy. “

Mrs. Stevens took the scissors with a quick thank you. Using just one blade like a knife, she cut the top of the box open exactly in the middle of the shipping tape. Pulling the edges of the box back, barely able to contain herself from just ripping the cardboard apart (for even adults have been known to want to tear into a present at Christmas) she saw several other boxes inside, all of them wrapped beautifully. She just gaped for a minute. There were so many boxes inside the big box all of them with: bows, tags, sprigs of holly, bells, and ribbons, and well… the most expensive wrapping papers she had ever seen. And the most elegant. Looking in that box was like staring into a jewelry store window, or an expensive display window. It took her breath away.

She felt some tugging on the hem of her dress. It was Cindy: “Mommy, Mommy, what is in there? We can’t see!”

Mrs. Stevens was ashamed of herself. The box was taller than either of her two children by a good three feet. Even at her own five feet seven inches, she could only peer in over the top of the box she had just cut open. So she cut some more so she could reach into the box to get the gifts out.

“Just a moment Honey. I have to cut some more of the box away so I can reach all the presents.”

“Presents?! “ Both Cindy and Macey squealed that word with all the joy and wonder that a four and five year old can cram into a word. A word that carried the hopes and dreams of their entire lives. “For us?!”

Mrs. Stevens’ smile was wrapped up in her answer: “Yes, it appears they are all for us.”

She knew how hard it was for the kids to be patient, they were almost climbing the box to see what she saw, but she still had some discipline left, and her Mom Voice too.

“You will both help me with these presents. I will hand them to you, and you will carry them…carefully….to the tree. Understand?”

“Oh, yes. We will be careful.” They both agreed in the somber tone that young children get when they are serious about something. There was no way they were going to fail at this task. It made her heart melt to see the serious effort they were making to be helpful, while still maintaining their glee.

Each present came out like a Jewel. The girls gasped when they saw how pretty the wrapping paper was. And each present had a tag, a bell, a sprig of holly, a small snowman or ornament on it too. They were beautiful even unopened. Cindy eyed the tag on the first box: “That’s my name!” If joy had a tone, it filled that squeal. The smile in Mrs. Stevens’ voice had a tone too, one filled with chords of love and wonder: “Yes, it is. “ The next box went to Macey…the doubtful look on her face as she reached up for the next box made Mrs. Stevens open her heart just a little more to put both a memory in there, and let out some reassurance. “And Macey, that is your name on this tag.” Macey lit up like the Parade named after her. Her tiny hands took the pretty box in them, and carried the box over to the tree with a dignity that would have befit a coronation ceremony. And so it went. Box after box.

In the end there were twelve boxes, four boxes for each of them. The tree seemed to puff itself up to embrace all the gifts surrounding it, seemingly trying to match the occasion. It had never had gifts under it in more than three years. Between the tree, the gifts, and the looks on the two girls and one woman’s faces - well, only sparkle would be the right word. They all sparkled.

“Now, you two go to bed. We will open our gifts in the morning.” Mrs. Stevens took her children upstairs, tucked them in, and left them giggling and conspiring until overwhelm and happy thoughts curled them both into sleep. She went downstairs and turned all the lights off except for the ones on the tree. She sat in her rocker in the dark, slowly moving back and forth as she looked at the miracle in front of her. The wrapping paper glittered, shone, and invited a soft viewing - the tree a kind of winter wonderland shadow over them. For some reason it brought her back to the old Currier and Ives Mugs her mother used every Christmas. She just rocked in the dark, enjoying the bounty displayed in front of her until her own hopes and dreams lulled her into a deep cuddling sleep.

In the morning, snow would cover the roof, the yard, and the sidewalk. Everything inside the house would be covered with joy, love, and surprise. Christmas had come in a package filled with boxes. The gifts served to remind Mrs. Stevens and her children that giving was part of Christmas, and gratitude was the return gift. They even saved the big box with its plain cardboard construction- for it made a perfect little playhouse once Mrs. Steven’s cut out some windows and a door.

Merry Christmas.

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