Ruth Carmichael Ellinger, The Shepherdess Speaks

A Christmas Story from "Women of the Secret Place"

THE GIVER

“He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD;

and that which he hath given will he pay him again”

Proverbs. 19:17

“Mom—what are you doing with my dishes?” I asked as I watched her removing the plates, my plates, from the china cupboard.

“I’m giving them away,” she said simply, “to a family who truly needs them.”

“But, Mom,” I protested peevishly, “you told me I could have those dishes when I had a home of my own. You know how I love those dishes!”

“I’m sorry, honey, but the dishes are inexpensive and can be replaced with some really nice china when you have your own home someday.” Her eyes were downcast and I knew she felt bad about the dishes but that wasn’t going to change her mind.

“You see, I met a family living in that old shack down by the river and they are in desperate need of just basic necessities.”

Mom continued wrapping the dishes in newspaper and packing them into a box while I put on my best teenage rebel ugly look. Glancing at me, she stopped in her work and said in her gentle way.

“I am really sorry the dishes I promised you, but it is almost Christmas and we want to share what we have with others less fortunate.”

Less fortunate! I stormed inwardly. Who could be less fortunate than we were? I could only stare at my mother in disbelief. Someone should be sharing with us, I thought angrily. Due to a bad farming season of rains and floods, we were barely scraping by until next season and hopes of recovering our losses. Christmas would be meager this Christmas, but things would be better next season, Dad promised.

I ran my hand over the raised knobby edge of the a large dinner plate, knowing I would never see the dishes again. The pattern was lovely with a pure white background and around the side of each plate was one beautiful red hibiscus with varied shades of green leaves. The contrast of red flower and green leaf against white was very festive. When Mom laid out the table with these particular dishes, it was usually for a company dinner. Several years earlier, I had claimed this set for my future home.

Mom packed the last plate into the box, wrapping it with a tablecloth for the unfortunate family. Bitterness welled up inside me and I immediately disliked the wretched family that would soon be eating on my hibiscus dishes. Since they were the cause of my present unhappiness, I felt justified in despising them. They didn’t deserve handouts from others who were struggling too.

Mom loaded the car with the box of dishes, kitchen utensils, blankets, outgrown clothing, and all the food she could spare. Mom took me along (almost kicking and screaming) to help carry the items she had assembled for the unfortunate family.

The pathetic little shack by the river was drafty and damp. Four young children were sitting on newspapers around a rusty old cook stove. Used tin cans served as dishes and three rickety old chairs and a table were the only furnishings in the house if one could call it that. On the uneven wooden floor, beds made from heaps of dirty straw were piled near the stove. A girl with dark brown eyes smiled shyly up at me from where she sat on her straw pallet and I wondered, what on earth did she have to smile about.

While my mother visited with the painfully thin woman, my eyes swept over the pitiful dwelling and I quickly realized that I was the fortunate one. We may not have a lot this winter, but I had a good home and a warm bed.

Driving home, Mom shared the women’s story, telling me how her husband drank and left the family with scanty means for food and shelter. Finally, they were forced to move from their mortgaged home to this wretched wooden shelter.

Sitting beside Mom on the drive home, I decided to forget about the hibiscus dishes and just be thankful for what I had. Later, lying on my warm bed on that cold December night, I confessed my selfish attitude to God and promised never to resent giving to the ‘unfortunates’ again.

Years passed and I married and moved to where the hibiscus plant grew in profusion. I often wondered about my dishes and the family who had been in such desperate circumstances that long ago Christmas time.

As and adult, I returned home often, especially during the holiday season. On one of my visits, my sisters and I attended a rummage sale, perusing the tables in search of some discarded treasure. I noticed a table filled with dishes and having a weakness for anything remotely related, I left my sisters who were sorting through the linens and apparel.

I approached the table of dishware and peering into a cardboard box, I saw my hibiscus dishes! I was speechless. For years, I had searched for this exact pattern, looking online and foraging through antique shops and second hand stores. The woman behind the table smiled warmly when she saw me carefully turning over the plates.

“Let me tell you a story about those dishes,” she said with a light in her brown eyes. “One cold Christmas when I was a child, our family was desperately needy. A kind woman brought this box of dishes along with food and clothing to our poor little home. Oh, how we loved those dishes! We set the table and the red, green, and white pattern seemed like a Christmas ornament sent from God. We sang and prayed and thanked God for sending that generous woman and for giving us those beautiful dishes.” A lump rose in my throat and tears sprang to my eyes, but I could not speak. The brown-eyed woman saw my tears.

“I understand how you feel,” she said knowingly. “That story will bring the strongest man to tears. We enjoyed our hibiscus dishes for many years and never forgot the kind family who gave them to us.” She sighed. “It is hard to part with them, but the proceeds from this rummage sale will help support missionaries in Indonesia. I wanted to give, just like that woman so unselfishly gave to us. I always think of her as ‘the giver’ and try to follow her generous example.

I swallowed hard and finally managed to speak. “I’ll take the whole box.”

“All of them?” she queried. “I have been selling them by the piece, but so far, only a few have sold.”

“I’ll take the entire box,” I reaffirmed.

While she mentally added the price of each piece, I ventured a question. “Did your family recover from their financial difficulty?”

“Oh, yes,” she affirmed. “My mother never gave up praying for my father and several years later, my father became a devoted Christian. After that, our home was happy with plenty to eat and a nice place to live.”

She smiled, her brown eyes shining with the memory. I knew this must be the same brown-eyed girl who had smiled at me from the floor of the dilapidated old shanty.

God continues to amaze me with His miraculous care and concern for all His children, for those who give, and for those who receive. My dishes had returned to me after so many years. Through my tears, I felt God’s hand on my shoulder, His sweet voice speaking words of love and reassurance; “He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD; and that which he hath given will he pay him again.” Pr. 19:17

Written by Ruth Carmichael Ellinger