It’s that time of year again when a lot of us stand all bundled up,ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. Today is my shift and I’m not happy about it. I know I’m going to be cold and bored and have to listen to that ever-ringing bell the whole time. And I’m the one doing the ringing.

I’m irritated with myself for giving away even a bit of my time when I’m so busy being in charge of the church Christmas party AND making sure all the Christmas gifts are collected for the needy families AND getting ready for a three week trip to spend Christmas with children and grandchildren. I’m too busy for this.  I’m not feeling any Christmas spirit this year.  Just overwhelmed and overcommitted.  This isn’t helping.

But I promised I’d do it, so I show up.

I know it’s for a good cause. Almost all the money stays in the community where it’s raised. Last year a couple of people folded up big bills and put them in the pot as they shared with me how the Salvation Army once helped them when they were down and out. This town is filled with the down and out. Other than teaching,government and medical jobs, there’s not much work here – mostly seasonal and part-time, low-wage stuff. The people going in to the store reflect our rural poverty.

I’m stationed right in the entrance of our small town grocery store where people have to pass me. It could be deliberate or it could just be that it’s the only place left to stand. The entrance is jammed with soda machines, carts, a bench where people sit to give away puppies, and a mechanical motorcycle that rips and roars out a  wild ride for any child lucky enough to have it paid for by a parent with time and money.

But there aren’t any of those folks around today. All the parents are saying no to the mechanical motorcycle ride. “No – no time. No – no money. We need it for Christmas.” But they do give to me. Or have their children give to me, handing them a few coins and directing them to drop the coins into the red kettle. I smile and thank the children; then give the bell an extra shake for a lesson well taught.

Almost everyone gives a little. The occasional dollar is given but mostly the pot is just a spare change dumping center. One man even says, “This is great. I’ve been looking for a place to get rid of this stuff all day,” as he empties his pockets of change into the pot – the change left from the dollars being spent on food and gifts to celebrate the Savior’s birth. I give a sigh of relief as I notice my shift is about up and I can get back to getting ready for Christmas myself. In the meantime, I entertain myself by ringing the bell to the beat of Christmas Carols.  “Joy to the world…”  dum..dum.. da dum.. da dum dum dum.”  It helps a little bit.

Only a few minutes are left when a young girl in a too small coat that was in style about ten years ago comes dashing out of the store. I recognize that pinched look of poverty. One of the ones we’re collecting gifts for probably – well, that’d be about half the town. She heads right to the motorcycle.

Ah-ha! A lucky one at last.   I’m not only excited for her I’m excited for me!  Something to overcome my boredom and forget how cold I am. I’ll be watching a rip-roaring motorcyle ride and a laughing child.

Just as she starts to climb on the bouncy motorcycle ride she hears my bell and turns to look.

“What’s this,” she asks. I tell her. She opens her hand. “This is all I have,” she says and drops the quarter for her motorcycle ride into the pot.

I go completely still as I consider her quick and total generosity. This is Christmas says my heart. This is Christmas. This moment as if I’m standing by the alms pot with the Savior whispering quietly to my spirit those words he said so long ago, “For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had….” Mark 12: 44

My service is no longer a sacrifice; now it’s a priceless gift.

Stunning Betty is coming up. But first let me fill you in on her.

She and her husband Jim are dealing with Jim’s sudden lung cancer. That’s hard enough but keep in mind this is West Virginia. Not much paid work but lots of unpaid work to be done just to stay alive. Betty’s job is as a home health care aide. Hard work. Long hours. Her “care” often includes doing yard work and major house cleaning.

They were already struggling financially. Now it’s even worse since not only have they lost Jim’s income, they have huge extra expenses including travel daily to the hospital an hour away. To pay for gas so Jim can get to radiation/chemo treatments every day they recycled a truck full of aluminum cans collected from the trash cans at the local parks and freeway rest stops.

There’s more. Betty and Jim heat their house with wood – Betty hauls it in, piles it up then keeps the fire going and cleans out the ashes when she’s not at work.

Last weekend Jim had an episode that landed him in Intensive Care. Betty was up all night with him in the emergency room, caught a few hours sleep and then went back. He’s still in the hospital. She leaves for the hospital at 5AM, visits with Jim from 6-6:30, heads home to start the fire to warm her house, then takes care of home patients then heads back to the hospital for the 6-6:30 at night visiting hours. She gets home around 8 PM to a cold, dark house.

What is she eating, I wondered? When does she even have time to cook? I know they don’t have extra money for take-out food. I worried she wasn’t eating. I thought I’d bring some meals over then considered the neighbors. Maybe they’d already filled her refrigerator with meals. I called her to find out.

“Betty,” I asked when she answered, “Do you have any meals?” “No,” she said, “But I can make some. Who needs the help?”

She’s a stunner isn’t she?

Olga’s father lived with her so she could care for him as he aged. She was working in the kitchen one day keeping an eye on him through the doorway into the living room He stood up and headed toward her calling out, “Daughter.” (He always called her daughter.) Just as he got to the door he dropped dead.

Olga says she grieved again every time she glanced at the doorway, remembering that awful moment. One day she grabbed a chain saw and, measuring two feet down from the ceiling and three feet up from the floor on this non-bearing wall, chainsawed it down.

The whole wall fell into the living room just as the children were coming into the house from school. “MOM!” they called out in shock.

She laughed at the memory as we both sat looking at the counter where the wall used to be. One sad memory down. One laughing one in it’s place.

Olga, a West Virginia mountain woman shared a bit of her life with me the other day.  Decades ago she was left a widow with three young children.  Shortly after that her husband’s good friend told Olga her husband had asked him to marry Olga to take care of her and the children.

Olga did.  He didn’t.  He was an abusive philanderer.  During the years they were together she supported the family working as a nurse while giving birth to two more children by him.  Eventually he left her for another woman. Olga didn’t seem too unhappy about this.

Years later she came home from work to find him in the home.  Her daughter (and his) said he had a fatal illness.  She wanted to drop out of college and with Olga’s permission – and help – care for her father until he died.

Olga already worked a physically demanding job.  The last thing she wanted to do was to come home to another person needing nursing care – especially not this person.  At the same time she wanted to support her daughter in doing the right thing by her father.

Here’s the prayer she prayed.  “God, I don’t want to do this.  But if you want me to do this and will give me the strength to do this, I will.”

He must have because she and her daughter cared for her ex-husband for five years until he eventually passed away. Then her daughter finished college and got a good job.  And Olga smiles when she tells the story.