My wife, Betty, handled the big job of sending out our family Christmas cards every year. All I did was seal and stamp the envelopes, and that was just fine with me.
Writing the cards always seemed like an ordeal. We’d set up at the dining table with the huge pile of cards, and Betty would spend the evening with her head down, writing away. But then came the year when the whole job landed on my shoulders.
Betty had gone into the hospital in early November with a back problem and her doctors thought she might have to stay there through Christmas. Thanksgiving came and went, and I avoided the boxes of cards we had picked out, praying she’d be home in time to do them.
By mid-December, however, I reluctantly decided that if any of our friends were going to hear from us that year, I’d better get cracking. I stacked the boxes of cards and rolls of stamps on the dining room table, along with Betty’s seemingly endless list of names and addresses.
I steeled myself to my task, deciding to do 10 cards each night. That would probably get most of them out in time for the holiday.
Our two boys had already gone to bed and the house was silent. I needed to get in the mood, so I put on a CD of Christmas classics. Soon the croons of Bing Crosby filled the air. Pen in hand, I started to write. I signed the cards “Merry Christmas from Betty, Dick and the boys.”
With the seventh card I began to appreciate what Betty had gone through in years past. After the tenth I was ready for bed.
The next day I forced myself to keep slogging through the imposing pile. And so it went until I picked up the card to go to Gordon and Joan Lockyer. Their names struck a real chord. I remembered when the four of us first became friends.
Gordon invited us up to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, where he kept a small sailboat, and Betty and I spent a beautiful day on the sun-sparkled waters. Until then I had done very little sailing, but that day awakened a passion.
I later owned several sailboats and enjoyed many happy years cruising waters from Lake Michigan to Long Island Sound. I realized I had a personal note for Gordon and Joan, and I wrote a few words about that long-ago day on Lake Geneva.
By the time I finished my note, I thought how nice it would be if I could share similar memories with our other friends. The next card was for Dick and Jill Lillard. We had never sailed together, but we’d spent many New Year’s Eves at the wonderful parties they threw.
My spirits lifted even more when I saw the next name on the list— my boyhood friend Harry Sandberg. I had fun reminding him about the times we used to play with our electric trains.
And then there was the couple on whose card I wrote, “I’m thinking of how much Betty and I enjoyed your son’s wedding last year.”
I found myself looking forward to spending time with good friends. No longer did the cards feel like a chore. Each one was a mini reunion.
When I saw the name of an old friend from my childhood church, the words flowed: “Remember that long-ago Christmas when our pastor read ‘A Christmas Carol’ to our youth group while we were gathered around his fireplace?”
Before I knew it, all of our cards were written, sealed and stamped, all in time to reach our friends and family before Christmas.
A few days later, I got the call that Betty was being released from the hospital early. As we drove home she said, “I’m so sorry I let you down by not doing the cards this year.”
“On the contrary,” I said. “I’ve never been more in the Christmas spirit!”
Download your FREE ebook, Rediscover the Power of Positive Thinking, with Norman Vincent Peale
