The Grinch: How My Heart Grew From Grump to Grateful
I am the youngest of 4 kids and the only girl.
Yes, everything you may be thinking is true.
I wasn’t spoiled as in I got lots of material things. But I may have whined a bit and felt entitled to my way sometimes. I got my own room while the 3 boys were cramped in one small bedroom. I was perhaps resented and definitely teased a lot by my brothers.
Teenage Linda was the only one left at home, with brothers that had gone off to be adults. I loved having my parents to myself. In my humble opinion, I was an easy teenager. I didn’t give my parents cause to worry or be too concerned. Except for that ONE time I got my ears double pierced after they told me no, I was a gem!
It was Christmas time and our stockings were hung by the chimney with care. I LOVED this time of year as it also included my birthday. I loved picking out a real tree every year from the Christmas tree farm and dragging it back home. Though our Christmas’s weren’t huge, in the way of gifts, they were traditional, intentional, and meaningful.
This particular season, my parents were working with the Hmong congregation at church. Hmongs were refugees from Southeast Asia. My parents served (I thought too much) of their free time in visiting, ministering, and serving these families.
This year they were in charge of collecting Christmas gifts and food for the families in need and delivering them. Our house slowly filled with sacks and boxes of wrapped gifts. And my own resentment was building. This was my Christmas too and I felt overlooked. I certainly was never overlooked by my parents, but teenage me was tired of their service to others.
It was time for the goods to be delivered and we could get on with MY holidays. In came Santa Clause. My dad. As long as I can remember, my dad has been Santa. The red suit and all. He came to my birthday parties, showed up to church parties, etc…dressed as the Big Guy. So of course, delivery to the Hmong families was no different.
My mom, who was usually his helpful elf, drove him to and from his Santa duties. On this occasion, perhaps using her motherly wisdom, she said I should take him. Begrudgingly, I helped Santa load the sleigh/car and deliver the presents.
Most of our deliveries were close together in an apartment building. As we went one by one to these little homes my Grinch heart began to see and feel something. It was just days before Christmas and there were no decorations, no trees, and no gifts to be seen. Just beautiful little brown-eyed kids and smiling parents excitedly greeting Santa and his helper.
Their hearts were already bigger and softer than mine. Each home we went to wanted to give back. A box of cookies, a little hand embroidered bookmark. They handed us whatever they could find. They would not let us leave empty-handed. They were wholehearted and unashamed of their circumstances.
I felt like turd for my previous feelings. For my resentment. For my entitlement. How could I be envious of my parent’s time with these beautiful humble people?
I indeed did feel like the Grinch that night when he looked over Whoville and saw them celebrating Christmas with no gifts in sight. My heart grew and softened and for one of the first times in my life felt the real reason for the season.
Over the years I have had many wonderful experiences serving and being served at Christmas time. Each one I could appreciate and embrace because of the example of my parents and my experience that night.
Even if we don’t feel grinchy, we may have hearts that don’t always remember the reason for the season. The busy-ness of trying to create a perfect holiday, especially as a mom, can make us forget The Why.
Christmas does not have to be perfect. Stockings don’t have to be hung with care. They can be hung with duct tape. The children don’t have to be nestled all snug in their bed. They can be up late playing video games screaming at each other.
As Teenage Linda found out, it’s serving, loving, and creating connection this time of year that really matters.