The Unlikely Messenger: A Slice of Life with Debra Brown
Christmas usually meant a time of light and joy for our family. But one year, it seemed to be Dad’s winter of discontent.
Christmas officially started the day after Thanksgiving at our house. The wreath went up, Christmas cards were mailed, and we decorated every room with holiday cheer. Mom baked goodies for us to put in gift tins for presents. We enjoyed the spirit of giving.
Like every year before, Dad provided gifts for one family in need. He gathered toys, fruit, nuts, and one of Mom’s cakes for them. He’d take everything to the parents in the dark of night so they could put out the holiday gifts for their family.
I accompanied him in making the deliveries in his old work truck, a 1955 powder blue Ford he loved. He said we were Santa’s helpers. I observed many handshakes, hugs, and teary thank yous from my seat.
But even at age seven, I sensed something was bothering Daddy.
Maybe it was because his friends hounded him about the guy renting the farmhouse. Many said to him, “You need to kick him out. He’ll never catch up on the back rent he owes you.”
Dad remained silent most of the time. Sometimes, he said, “He’ll pay when he can.”
Mom told Dad he was too soft. “It has been over six months. You need to talk to him again.”
“He can’t pay what he doesn’t have,” Daddy argued. “I’m not evicting anyone, especially at Christmas.”
A few days later, Dad and I stopped at the neighborhood store for an afternoon snack. I admired the festive window display, which included a large poster announcing the downtown Christmas parade.
When we walked into the cramped space, the jingle bells on the door chimed. Warm air carried the scent of burning wood and the rich aroma of coffee. A few dust specks danced in the sunlight streaming through the window.
A tall, spindly cedar tree stood covered in one corner with tiny lights, shiny ornaments, and silver icicles. A black dog snored underneath the branches.
“Has he come up with the money yet?” a loud voice boomed from a group of old men sitting around a pot-belly stove.
They shared opinions while Dad paid for our Coca-Cola and peanuts and put everything into a brown paper bag.
We were halfway out the door when one man yelled, “I’m sure you could use the money, especially during the holidays.”
“We’ll make do,” Dad said.
Even though Mom and Dad worked hard to provide for us, I knew money was tight. I’d heard them discussing holiday expenses when they thought I was out of earshot.
But as Daddy reminded Momma, we had a warm home, gifts under the Christmas tree, and food on the table.
As we left the store, I thought about the nice man at the farmhouse.
I often saw him when I helped Daddy feed the cows. He’d come out to chat and lend a hand. Well, he did before his accident. Now, he’d hobble out with a cane to say hello.
I couldn’t understand why everyone wanted him to leave, so I asked Dad.
He frowned, and his shoulders slumped.
“They just like to hear themselves talk.” He sighed. “Their opinions don’t count. I’m doing what’s right.”
I climbed into the cold truck with him and onto the cracked leather seat. Dad turned the ignition and cranked up the heat. Cold air burst through the vents. I shivered.
He put the truck in reverse but paused, his foot on the brake petal. He turned and fixed his eyes on me.
“It’s like Sunday’s sermon. Just because it seems right in today’s world doesn’t mean it’s right. God’s word hasn’t changed. We need to follow His teachings.”
So if you know of an opportunity to do the right thing today, yet you refrain from doing it, you’re guilty of sin” – James 4:17.
When we went to the farm later that week, we took one of Mom’s cakes and a tin of assorted cookies.
The frail man with a weathered face met us with a big smile. He took the treats and handed Dad a thick envelope.
“I finally got the worker’s compensation claim insurance check.”
Dad’s blue eyes twinkled. He smiled back at him, asking, “Do you have enough left over until you return to work?”
“Yeah, man,” he said, still grinning. “I’m fine, thanks to your generosity and patience.”
Dad shrugged it off and didn’t comment on the man’s watery eyes.
“It wasn’t a big deal. I just did what’s right.”
I realized Dad had kept the man’s business private. He hadn’t fueled the gossip of a small town.
Dad remained firm in his convictions, even with Momma. He knew it was right to work with the renter. He’d trusted the man and had shown him respect and compassion.
To the renter, doing the right thing seemed like a big deal, and I agreed.
As I tagged along with Dad during that long-ago holiday season, I saw integrity in action. The lesson I received remained a lasting gift: “God’s word hasn’t changed. Right is right.” I couldn’t have asked for more, especially at Christmas.
Debra Brown’s motto is “Be the Spark.” She has a passion for family, her 3 cats, flowers, pretty food, and health & wellness. Debra is an author, UGA honors graduate/The Citadel MBA.