THE CHRISTMAS BOX by Ela Thomas

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 22, 1881

THE CHRISTMAS BOX.

By Ela Thomas

It was a bit of a house in a new western town. A town so new that many of the houses had as yet only had time to throw out a wing or kitchen part, and even many of these fragmentary structures had not yet donned a coat of paint. There were two little churches, of a freshness to correspond with everything else, and the tiny house I have spoken of was one of the parsonages. Now the word "parsonage" suggests a gray old house, shaded by great trees, half hidden by the embrace of sweet swaying vines; a house whence the white-haired old minister of our childhood went out from his flock and labors on that silent journey; a house whence kindly offices and ministries have come for generations. But the plaster on the Bayton parsonage was hardly dry when the Rev. Mr. Hosmer moved in, and though there were trees and vines, the one were but whips with a cluster of leaves for heading, and the other had hardly begun to stretch their tendrils towards the lattice they were to cover. But to the minister and his wife, who had learned to look at the blessings instead of the discomforts of life, it seemed a cozy little spot, for they were Home Missionaries, and the way they came to Bayton, the people there wrote to the Society in New York that they needed a church and a pastor, but were too poor to build the one or support the other without help. So the Home Missionary Society helped them to build the neat little church, and sent Mr. Hosmer, who preached to the people of Bayton every Sunday morning; at the North school-house, three miles over the prairies, one Sunday afternoon; at Hopkins, five miles away, the next; at Prairie Grove, nine miles, the third, and at West Point, seven miles, the fourth, in succession. Receiving from the Society two hundred dollars and the church at Bayton one hundred and fifty dollars a year, while these other stations, that were not churches at all, but simply waste-places, he was trying to cultivate for the Master, that churches might spring up there, contributed now and then a bag of wheat or a few bushels of common potatoes, as the spirit or convenience of the hour might move. Not a very large amount to support a family, where ten-year-old Annie was growing so fast her dresses could not keep pace with her, and Tommy and Jack were continually bursting out at toes, or elbows, or knees, and Baby Bessie's sweet helplessness demanded the softest and warmest of folding; and all the four small mouths were as voracious as young robins. But when Mr. and Mrs. Hosmer left their comfortable Eastern home to carry the "glad tidings of great joy" to the great West, they accepted the cross of hardship and privation, and as the early Christians "took joyfully the spoiling of their goods," these modern saints accepted in the same spirit the having of few goods to spoil. True, this was sometimes an effort of grace, for missionary flesh is humanly weak, after all, This was especially the case last autumn, when there were but ten dollars in the family purse, and the Society, which owed them a quarter's salary, was itself out of funds and depending on the contributions of the faithful to supply the deficiency. And the chill winds from over the wide prairies were whistling around the little parsonage a warning that winter was coming, and the necessity for warm flannels, strong shoes, and thick comforters—all of which were lacking.

So, with all their trust in Providence, it was not strange they should feel this burden of wants press heavily. Debt was not to be thought of. Retrenchment there seemed no room for. Mrs. Hosmer was wearing the same winter bonnet in which she came west, a bride, eleven years before, and Mr. Hosmer's Sunday coat had already been cleaned and mended, and the seams (that would grow threadbare) inked, times without number. So Mr. Hosmer said: "Mary, there is nothing we can do but to wait patiently on the Lord."

And they knelt down and commended not only themselves, but the daily needs—the flannel, the shoes, and the comforters, to the hand who gives the young ravens their food, and in whose eyes we, though of so little faith, are of much more value.

But a few days had passed when there came to Mrs. Hosmer a letter from an unknown Ohio town, where some of the ladies had formed a Home Missionary Society, and sent to the Society in New York for the name of some missionary for whom their work might be done, receiving in reply Mr. Hosmer's; whereupon the secretary wrote a letter of inquiry to Mrs. Hosmer, as cheering as the grasp of a friendly hand. Sympathy, fellowship, what elixirs of hope and courage they are to the sad, the disheartened, the weary! And the pulses of this lake-shore town beat against those in the far-off western parsonage, and they took up their work anew, feeling that it was not unknown that they were remembered not only by their heavenly Father, but by his earthly followers. Mrs. Hosmer answered the letter in the spirit in which it was written. There was no whining, no begging In a half-merry strain she told them of the home, its cares and needs, and the work that was given into their hands. And many an eye, when the letter was read, grew moist at the pathos that revealed, under all the gentle gaiety, the delicate, cultured woman, treading rough paths, and bearing heavy burdens, for the sake of that Master they were content to serve in ease and luxury. For this little society in Clifton was made up chiefly of young girls, members of the large and prosperous church, who, having known no burden of service, were, from very inactivity, fast drifting into passive, idle selfishness, when a few of the church workers who had the interests of these bright young lives at heart, persuaded them to form this little Home Missionary Society. Most of them had yielded with but languid interest, till the receipt of Mrs. Hosmer's letter. Before it had been an abstraction, now it became a reality. The little house, the busy father, the no less busy mother, gentle, studious Annie, the bright, romping boys, the winsome baby were at once taken to their hearts. There was eager discussion of ways and means. One had a dress that could be cut over for Annie; another a little brother whose out-grown ulster would be just the thing for one of the boys; and every one was ready with her offering, some made sweeter still for the self-sacrifice they cost. So they were gathered in—the strong boots, warm caps, and soft dresses, with some pretty baby garments, from a home where the baby music was stilled, and a lonely mother gave the dainty hood and cloak and socks, in the hope they would gladden some happier mother's darling. The father and mother were, however, not forgotten.

"Fancy our minister with his Sunday coat inked, and just think of her who has worn one bonnet eleven winters!" And a flutter of white hands went up in amazement.

There were busy workers in Clifton in those days, for all agreed the box must go before Christmas. True, many cherished bits of fancy-work had to be laid aside because of it, and home friends go without their usual remembrance. But they could better do without the intended stand-spread or tidy, though of gracefullest design and finish, than this poor minister's family without the warm clothing that was to make them comfortable. Fortunately there were some older heads to watch that the girlish enthusiasm was directed in practical ways, to see that comfortables were made, as well as ruffled aprons, and to suggest that a plain felt bonnet would be more suitable than a velvet one with jet passementerie, and the surplus be invested in a serviceable dress. But at last the box, so precious in their eyes, was finished, and delivered to the express company, with numberless charges concerning care and speed.

Meanwhile in the parsonage, nothing had been said to the children, as Mr. and Mrs. Hosmer had learned from experience that missionary boxes were often delayed, and sometimes disappointing in result. And the late autumn chilled and whitened into early winter, nipping little ears and pinching little bodies, but yet bringing the Christmas-time so near, that Tommy began to wish for a cap with ear tabs, Jack for some copper-toed boots, and Annie for a new school dress, to take the place of that grown so shabby. Mrs. Hosmer heard and sighed, as she tried to freshen the dress that refused to look anything but worn-out, and told the boys she was afraid their old caps would have to do, and they be content with shoes instead of boots. But at last, over valley and prairie the eve gathered, so dear to childish hearts, with hanging of stockings and lighted tapers on Christmas trees, and the glad morning dawned, with joyful greeting ringing like a sweet Jubilate through all the waking world. In Bayton parsonage, however, the minister was shaded by disappointment—nothing had been heard of the expected box, the letter which should have foretold its coming having been delayed, and though the best had been done, it was so little. However, just as Mrs. Hosmer was deep in the mysteries of plum-pudding that was to crown the day, an express wagon drove up to the door, and tumbled out a heavy box. Instantly a reign of excitement began, the children shouting, "A box—a Christmas box! O, where is it from? What is in it?" And Mrs. Hosmer hardly less eager, as they hastened to remove the cover.

There are missionary boxes and boxes, and never before had the Hosmers, young or old, seen one like this. A magic box, the children thought it must be, since every one drew from it just what they most wanted, Tommy and Jack going through a series of executions that would have graced Piute braves at a war dance over the new caps (with ear-tabs), the boots and the ulsters; Annie in an equal transport of delight, at sight of the bright soft dresses, and dainty white aprons; and Baby Bessie looking like a tiny princess as she crowed in the down-trimmed cloak and hood; while Mr. Hosmer declared he hardly knew himself in the new coat, that fitted him so perfectly, he said the Lord must not only have known his need, but his measure; and Mrs. Hosmer's eyes filled with happy tears as she saw not only the new bonnet and dress for herself, but the warm flannels and stockings, and bedding, and underclothing, that would save her so many a weary hour, and felt her heart lighten as the burden of anxious care was lifted. The pudding was forgotten, but pudding was voted a superfluity, with all the gifts of these far-away and in the flesh unknown friends, that had made their Christmas indeed a merry one, and who in return found their own gifts dearer, their hearts more gladsome, for the sweet service, the sacrifice, the sympathy, with which they had so heavily freighted their Christmas-box.