Free The Book of Christmas Virtues by Jack Canfield

know you fellas invented those classroom jobs for me.” He cleared his throat. “You helped me keep my dignity, and I’ve never forgotten.”
    I felt a lump in my own throat as Jimmy looked me full in the face.
    â€œWhen teachers really care, students know it,” Jimmy said. “That’s why I want to teach. I want to be there for my students the way you were there for me.”
    What a Christmas gift, I thought. And, a little teary eyed, we shook hands.
    No longer teacher and pupil, we were now two men with the same hopes—and the same goals.
    Edmund W. Ostrander

Surprise Santa
    A few days before Christmas, a devout Christian couple held the hands of their young son and walked briskly to their nearby church. But the boy pulled back a bit, slowed and came to an abrupt halt.
    â€œSanta,” he whispered. “Santa!”
    The four-year-old broke free of his parents’ grasp and ran toward an elderly gentleman with a long, flowing white beard.
    Tugging on the stranger’s coattail, the youngster begged, “Santa, will you bring me a teddy bear for Christmas?”
    Embarrassed, the couple started to apologize, but the man merely waved them aside. Instead, he patted their son on the head, nodded once, winked wryly at the youngster and—without a word—went on his way.
    On Christmas morning, a knock interrupted the family’s festivities. In the doorway stood the old man holding out a large bear with a plaid bow around its neck.
    â€œI didn’t want the little fellow to be disappointed on his holiday,” he explained with an awkward grimace and turned to leave.
    Uncomfortable and stunned, the parents could only stutter a weak, “Uh, th-thanks. And M-merry Christmas to you . . . Rabbi.”
    Henry Boye

In the Bag
    As I step from the damp winter chill into the warmth of Carmen’s living room, her cocker spaniel announces my visit with high-pitched barking.
    â€œI’m in here,” Carmen yells.
    I pass the tabletop Christmas tree and find Carmen sitting in her wheelchair beside dozens of white paper bags standing at attention on the dining room table.
    â€œDid you bring the goods?” she asks.
    I nod, offering her thirty packets of Famous Amos cookies. Carmen smiles as I drop a package inside each sack. On Christmas Eve, Carmen delivers them to the thirty residents of Shalom House, a homeless shelter in Kansas City, Kansas, where her friend Mary Kay lives and works. I’ve heard about the bags for months and wanted to be a part of the fifteen-year tradition.
    My understanding of homelessness is the guy on the freeway ramp carrying a cardboard sign asking for work or the men lying underneath bundles of blankets on the streets of Manhattan. Somehow, the packages of cookies seem too small an offering for men who need so much.
    Seventy-five-year-old Carmen fastidiously prepares the Christmas gifts like a doyenne tending to a queen. A shiny red Christmas card, embossed with a picture of gift-bearing wise men, is neatly taped to each bag. “May the Peace of Christ Be with You” is written across the top.
    Carmen’s cheery disposition and sense of purpose belie a myriad of health problems. Besides diabetes and congestive heart failure, neuropathy has destroyed the feeling in her swollen fingertips. It takes her a long time to move a pen or tear off a piece of tape.
    â€œLook at all the stuff in here,” I exclaim, noting that each bag already contains a razor, deodorant, Cheez-Its, Chex mix and other items buried on the bottom.
    â€œThere’ll be more.” Carmen proudly rattles off the names of friends yet to bring goodies.
    The tradition began with Christmas cards containing a few crisp dollar bills. Over the years, she added shampoo, a pair of socks, a snack. Regardless of her meager Social Security check, she managed to increase the gifts each year.
    Friends started to offer contributions. How about candy? A pair of gloves?