The latest from our Heart and Soul
"Mom, you don't like pineapple, do you?" Jake's little voice came from the kitchen behind us, as John and I were curled up on the couch, watching TV by the fireplace.
"What are you doing?" Silence from my chattering five year old is never golden. In fact, it's a sign of trouble. I turned and there he was; sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the pantry, unloading every box and can into a neat pile.
"We have lots of food," he announced, "Those kids on TV didn't have any. We'll just put it in a box and mail it to them."
I knew exactly what Jake was referring to. Only 15 minutes earlier, there had been talk on the news about children in Afghanistan, and how with the war and winter coming, many were starving.
"Honey, we can't send them our food," gently, I tried to explain. They were too far away. It was too expensive. They wouldn't have can openers. Jake would have none of it-his blue eyes filled with tears and he became angry.
"Why? WHY? Why can't we help kids? It's just not fair!" Jake was right; life just isn't fair, and having to explain that concept to a five year became one of those impossible parenting moments that you'd rather not discuss. We couldn't send our food to starving kids half a world away, and it just seemed wrong. Hopeless. Completely beyond our reach.
Later that night, cuddled up in bed over story books, I suddenly had an idea; why not turn Jake's idea into something more tangible, more local, something that he could do? Wouldn't that be the ultimate lesson? Would it work? I didn't know at that point, but I was willing to give it a try. What better way to teach charity to a five year old then to actually do something hands on?
Soon Jake hatched a plan; he would approach Alan, the manager of our local Save-On Foods, and ask if he could hold a hot chocolate and cookie sale outside their store on a Saturday. I would arrange all the logistics, and he would sell the goods and collect the money. Everything that we collected would go to the hamper fun for local children.
The next week was a flurry of excitement; Jake charmed not just the manager of Save On Foods but the entire staff, we found a table, borrowed a huge urn for the hot chocolate, Jake created signs, and I spent hours baking all sorts of cookies. Soon enough, the day arrived; freezing cold, clear, and full of promise.
"I don't know how this will go, Jake. You might not get a lot of money." I looked into his bright little face, so full of excitement and hope, that I was terrified some random stranger might crush in an instant. Typical adult cynicism took over as I was a bit wary-would people actually donate?
Jake saw my face and with typical five year old faith, declared,
"Mom, you wait. They will come."
It was a slow start, at first. People sampled the hot chocolate and cookies on their way in the store, and then began dropping by again on the way out. Some came over to see what this little boy dancing around with excitement was doing. Before we knew it, a local radio station put the word out and soon there was a crowd around the table, all stuffing our jar with bills.
"Can I buy a dozen cookies? Those are delicious!"
"What a great idea!"
"For the stocking fund? Wow. Here, I have $50 for you."
"Hey have you had lunch? You look cold. We'll go get you some."
"We'll take Jake upstairs to let him warm up a bit if you want."
In three hours, from some simple hot chocolate and cookies, Jake raised over $400. You might think that the story ends there, but Jake had something else to teach me.
"Mom! The kids need toys! Let's go buy them." In a whirlwind of activity, we took the funds we had raised and hit our local Wal-mart. Jake filled two shopping carts of gifts for every age group we could think of, carefully choosing things he felt kids would want. It wasn't until we were driving to the hamper fund office to drop them off that I noticed Jake was holding the stuffed orange and white cat that he had picked out; petting it and talking to it softly. He then announced that it's name was Marmalade.
Uh oh.
My heart sank. It had been such an amazing day, and surely some people would argue that Jake deserved to have that toy, but on the other hand giving, true heartfelt giving, should be it's own reward. Shouldn't it?
We unloaded all the toys at the hamper fund office and soon it was time to go, but Jake was missing. I found him hiding among the stacks, holding the stuffie and tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Mom, I just want to keep him. Really. Just this one? Please?"
Sinking to the floor and gathering him in my arms, I stroked his hair. We were both exhausted and it would be so easy to just give in. It was just a stuffie, after all.
"Jake, remember how happy you were to get Humphrey?" Jake nodded. A soft black stuffed dog, Humphrey was Jake's best friend, confidant, and protection. "Some little boy or girl doesn't have a Humphrey to be their friend. I know that you want to keep Marmalade, but you have a Humphrey. There are little boys and girls out there who don't. Maybe they don't have toys like you do, lots of food to eat, or a warm coat. Maybe they need someone to cuddle and talk to when it's dark and they're scared. I know it's hard but today, Marmalade isn't for you."
Slowly, Jake set Marmalade down on the piles of toys, leaned and whispered something in his ear, then stood and took my hand. Outside the doors, Jake suddenly turned and waved at the stuffie sitting in the window.
"Bye, Marmalade. Don't be afraid of riding in Santa's sleigh. He's going to make sure that you go to someone who needs you, and you are going to make it their best Christmas ever."
I had thought I was teaching Jake about charity. I had no idea that in the end, by selflessly giving away the one item he wanted most, he would be teaching me.
