True Christmas

Today, in my head and at home, it’s real Christmas.

No. I didn’t receive any gifts.
I didn’t decorate a Christmas tree.
I didn’t bake gingerbread cookies.
The house doesn’t smell of apple pie.
It hasn’t snowed.

Today was just a regular workday, during which my husband and I finally visited a family we want to make Christmas better for this year.
A couple of months ago, I posted on my account that we were looking for a family in need of help.
Do you know how many people responded to my post?
Exactly zero.

True, some charitable funds and organizations offered to support them, and then they would distribute the money to those who need it most. Somehow. I’m an older, skeptical “auntie,” and sometimes I stop trusting intermediaries in the distribution of kindness—and the sums that supposedly reach the recipients.

So I didn’t give up. I remembered a classmate from school who recently has been working a lot with underprivileged families. When I first messaged her on Facebook, she immediately replied that she would soon send me a few families I could choose from.
“Choose?”
“Choose who needs it most?”

I thought it would be very hard.
But only thought so.
It wasn’t hard.

The first call ended quickly because the young woman’s energetic voice on the other end answered concisely when I asked what they needed most: EVERYTHING.
“Everything.”

When I asked how many children they had, the answer hit me like a blow to the heart: I couldn’t just gather money and give it to her, because what I heard shook me as a mother.
“I have three. One lives with me, and two with their father,” she said, her voice tinged with frustration because there was constant drinking at that home, so the kids usually came to her. So realistically, three.

A mother placing her children on different “shelves”? Leaving two where there’s drinking?
Through my prism, I realized that even if I lived in a tent under a leafless tree, all my children would live together. No discussion.

The second call I made reached a different voice. A woman who had suffered a stroke spoke with difficulty. It was tricky to understand her at first. We arranged to meet.
We met today.

A year after her stroke, the woman sits in a wheelchair. Living with her is her 11-year-old son. A boy who had to grow up overnight and become the head of the family.
The family’s income comes from the mother’s disability allowance, which is currently delayed due to some expired certificate.

I mainly wanted to talk to the teenage boy, who says he doesn’t really lack anything. His biggest worry is the bailiffs, constantly pressing him over a “rabbit journey” debt that has now grown into 50 euros. Everything else is small.
“Shoes?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Jacket?”
“Maybe I’ll still wear the old one.”

We found the family at home. The mother goes nowhere else. The boy, forced to grow up too early, wasn’t at school today because he caught a cold.
“Do you have medicine?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied, pointing to a paracetamol blister.
“Do you need anything more serious?”
He shook his head: no, not necessary.

But what can you do with 5 euros in your pocket?
5 euros.

My husband and I left silently, holding that young hand with money for a full meal and a better tomorrow.
…We promised to come back.

After our boutique “Little Christmases.”
For many years we’ve had a beautiful tradition: at our boutique, we invite the visitors who know us best and care the most. We could invite many more, but our little love-filled corner, like a tiny elf’s house, can only fit so many.
So when we send invitations to a few, we feel slightly guilty about the others. But we bow our heads low—and hope for understanding.

Every year, visitors would bring various treats and gifts.
I would sit like a little muffin after the party, devouring with my eyes the pile of your love for me. I felt so blessed and happy. Then I’d take that pile of love home… almost in my arms.

But last year, I realized something changed in my heart. And despite being overwhelmed by your attention and gifts, I decided that Christmas is not about that.
So last year, I dared to ask the participants of Little Christmas to hand over their money for my gift… which I wouldn’t do.
“Hold the money tightly in your hand and bring it.”

That evening, I gave the collected kindness to a fund for children with cancer. And I felt Christmas.

This year, I continue the beautiful tradition.
And in my heart, Christmas sparkled even brighter when I personally met the family whose eyes today shone with anticipation and joy when they heard the promise that we would return.

And in my eyes, Christmas sparkled too.
Even though I was very focused during the meeting.
On the way back, that sparkle rolled down my cheek.
And probably seeped into my heart.

Touch Christmas.
It’s gentle.
And it rolls down your cheeks straight into your heart.
And when you give—you get so much back.
Miracles. No other way.

From Thursday, the boutique will have a box where anyone can drop a note with their wish. We promise to forward every last cent to the new friends we visited today.

V.