The Coonridge Digest: Receive the miracle

Greetings from the Ridge.

I’d read of her story years ago and it was one of those tales that just stuck with me. I had to know more so I called the New York publisher that printed her little narrative and asked for the lady’s phone number. Three more calls and a whole lot of begging later, they gave it to me. She was still alive, still living in Idaho, and was more than happy to relate the tale of Kenny. Her story:

Kenny was five that Christmas. The Great Depression was deep upon us and I had to sit my little boy down and tell him that Santa Claus wouldn’t be stopping this year. How do you tell a five-year-old child that your family simply has no money for Christmas presents? Kenny thought a moment then seemed to resign himself to a gift-less holiday. I think that perhaps he secretly knew. But to top it off, he turned his head sideways and smiled at me.

We always thought it was cute the way Kenny would turn his head to the right when he smiled. Once he entered school we found that he was completely deaf in his right ear and thus the head turning was simply a way of listening more closely.

But then Kenny came to me one day, two weeks before Christmas, telling me he wanted to get a gift for his friend Jacob who lived about three-quarters of a mile across the pasture from us. I told him that wouldn’t be possible. Even if we did have the money for the gift, I knew Jacob’s mother. Marie was a proud woman and the inability to return the gesture would surely eat her up. Kenny turned his head, smiled, said "Okay Mommy," then he completely disobeyed me.

For 10 straight days Kenny hired out to a neighbor to cut firewood for a penny a day. Then with 10 days’ worth of pennies in his pocket he went down to the little general store in neighboring Bayhorse, Idaho, and bought a compass. It was one of those little things like you’d find in a Crackerjacks box. No bigger than the end of your thumb but a grand gift in Kenny’s eyes. When he came in on the day before Christmas and showed me what he’d purchased with his chopping money, I was speechless. What could I say? So we made a deal… if Kenny could somehow get the gift to Jacob without either the boy or his mother knowing where it came from, he could give the gift. Kenny’s plan: on Christmas Eve he’d sneak across the pasture, carefully place the wrapped compass inside the family’s front door, then take off running. For all Jacob would know it was Santa Claus.

I remember looking out the window that night… rainy, windy… watching my dear little boy take off across the pasture with the precious gift held tightly in his hand. He trudged the muddy three-quarter mile, opened the screen door, gently placed the gift on the doorsill and took off running.

I don’t know whether it was the excitement or the driving rain or the muddy ground, but Kenny completely forgot about the strand of barbed wire separating our two pastures. When my little boy arrived at my doorstep he was a muddy, bloody, sobbing mess of tears. I did my best to patch him up, hold him tight for a moment, then put him to bed that Christmas Eve. I can remember having a mighty shameful argument with God. "How could you?" I demanded. "How could you allow this to happen? This boy… this dear little boy of mine gave all that he had… more than he had… and you let this happen to him?" When I crawled into bed Kenny was quiet. He couldn’t hear his mother crying.

His friend awoke the next morning, found the compass, assumed it was Santa and their family had a joyous Christmas morning.

Shortly after Kenny returned to school from Christmas break I got a phone call from the principal. He asked, "Has Kenny had some sort of injury? Some sort of trauma to his head?"

I thought a moment. "Why… yes… yes!" and I told him about Kenny’s accident.

"Why?" I asked.

The principal paused a moment then said, "Because the hearing has returned to his right ear."

As you celebrate this anniversary of the birth of someone who gave all he had, may you be more than simply merry and blessed. May you receive the miracle.

And if you’re ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.