A Lesson in Giving at Christmas

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Just before Thanksgiving I offered a deal to God: I would design and sell greeting cards made from my photography, and give 15 percent of the net proceeds to charity.

He didn’t take me up on my offer. In fact, rather than making a profit, I barely covered printing costs. As a result, I ranted at God. If the effort wasn’t going to be successful, why hadn’t he let me know before I put all the time into designing the cards, the money into printing them and the effort into selling them?

He didn’t answer as I carried all the extra cards home, placed them in sacks, and arranged them in alphabetical order in a box. He didn’t answer when I balanced my checkbook and confirmed the fact that I had made not one red cent of profit. He didn’t answer when I looked at the footlocker-sized box on the floor of my office, next to the other one containing envelopes, and wondered just where I was supposed to store them.

I left the boxes sitting on the floor and enjoyed Thanksgiving. I stumbled over the boxes when I went into the office to pay bills. I kicked them out of the way when I went to get a manila envelope to take the necessary paperwork to the city to request a tax waiver for the business. And each time I grumbled to God that he’d shot down this grand idea of mine to benefit those in need.

It wasn’t until I began to prepare to send Christmas greetings to friends and relatives that I considered donating some of my cards to the clients at Catholic Community Services’ Weigand Homeless Resource Center in Salt Lake City. But what good were the cards themselves? If I sold them, the profits could be used to pay for necessities. Greeting cards are a want, not a need, I told God. Wouldn’t it be better to give food or warm clothing? The Weigand Center’s website also asks for donations of large quantities of toilet paper, razors, deodorant, shaving cream, any or all of which I could have purchased with the money raised from selling the cards.

But I didn’t have any of those things to give, or the money to buy them. All I had were holiday greeting cards. True, they were beautiful (if I do say so myself) – a selection of five different birds, each saying either “Happy Holidays” or “Merry Christmas,” printed on high-quality card stock. These were the same cards I was sending my friends and family – and here is where God’s voice whispered a truth I didn’t want to hear: I considered those cards too good to be donated to the homeless.

“I do not think that,” I protested, but God’s tender gaze revealed a secret I’d hidden even from myself: I wanted to sell the cards to people who would appreciate them, not give them to people who would accept them only as handouts.

“But don’t you think,” God asked gently, “that the people at the Weigand Center will enjoy sending these cards to family and friends just as much as someone who buys them?”

“Maybe,” I grumbled, because I was embarrassed at having my sinful pride revealed, even if it was only to myself.

The very next day I took an assortment of the cards to the center, where I confessed I didn’t know if they would be useful. The man who accepted the donation assured me that many of the clients would want to send holiday greetings to their family. I walked out blinking away tears, feeling like the Little Drummer Boy, because I had no gift fit to fill stomachs or provide warmth, but what I did have to give will perhaps bring a touch of beauty and holiday cheer. And if the baby Jesus doesn’t smile at me, maybe one of the people from the Weigand Center will.

Merry Christmas!

 Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. She can be reached at marie@icatholic.org