The Shoe Box Gift

I wanted to give my secret Christmas present to anyone but Mr. P

- Frances McGee Cromartie

Have you ever been a part of something that made no sense to you at the time but turned out to be an unforgettable life lesson? That Christmas I didn’t understand what was happening. I didn’t really put it all together for some time, but what I learned about myself— and Mr. P—is a lesson I’ll never forget.

My Christmas to-do list that year was overwhelming. Nailing down last-minute details threatened to draw all the holiday spirit out of me. Still, the one thing that always made the mad rush bearable was my shoe boxes.

It was a tradition I’d started in memory of a dear cousin, the very first recipient of one of those boxes. Each year I’d look for 10 people, folks who were in nursing homes or had lost a loved one or just seemed lonely or in need. I’d fill a shoe box with little gifts—lotion, deodorant, toothpaste, socks, lip balm, soap and tissues. I’d tape 20 one-dollar bills end to end and roll them up tightly into a tube and for fun, I’d throw in a windup dollar-store toy.

After wrapping each of the gifts in leftover wrapping paper, I’d put them in the box and top it off with a handwritten note, “Always remember, God loves you.” I never signed my name. That was part of the satisfaction. The hidden joy.

By Christmas Eve that year, I had only five boxes left to hand out. I knew exactly who would get them—five older members of St. Margaret’s. I rushed to the parish hall just before the 7:30 p.m. service. The holiday reception was winding down. I spotted four of my intended gift recipients in the hall. The fifth was nowhere to be seen. Maybe that person would show up soon.