What Jello Taught Me About The Spirit

The first time I heard this story I was a tween.  Perhaps 12, but couldn't have been much older.  I remember reading this story or having someone tell it to me and the spirit touched me and I cried.  It was one of my first experiences like that.

I have often thought about this story and when I found it I had to share.

A Missionary Christmas

By Sandra Bateman

It was but a few short days until Christmas in 1966. Two young elders of the

Mormon church walked the streets of Laredo, Texas, knocking on doors in search of

someone who would listen to their gospel message. No one, it seemed, in the entire city

had time to hear the teachings of the Savior, so intent were they that the celebration of

His birth should suit their own social purposes.

Filled with discouragement, the two young men turned their backs to the

approaching twilight and began the long walk home. Retracing their steps of the

afternoon, they came upon a low, windswept riverbank. Jutting from its brow stood the

barest means of a shelter, constructed of weathered wooden slats and large pieces of

cardboard. Strangely, they felt moved to go to the door and knock.

A small olive-skinned child with tangled black hair and large dark eyes answered.

Her mother appeared behind her, a short, thin woman with a tired but warm smile. In her

rich Spanish alto she invited the young men to come in and rest awhile. They were made

welcome and seated on the clean-swept floor. The little one-room shanty seemed to be

filled with shy, smiling, dark-eyed children. The mother proudly introduced each of them

– eight in all – and each in turn quickly bobbed his or her head.

The young men were deeply moved at the extreme poverty they saw. Not one in

the family had shoes, and their clothes were ill-fitting and in a condition beyond

mending. The walls of the little home showed daylight between the wooden slats, and

eight little rolls of bedding were pressed tightly into the cracks to help keep out the draft

until they were needed for sleeping. A small round fire pit dug in one corner marked the

kitchen. An odd assortment of chipped dishes and pots were stacked beside an old ice

chest, and a curtained-off section with a cracked porcelain tub served as the bathing area.

Except for these the room was barren.

The mother told how her husband had gone north to find employment. He had

written that he had found a job of manual labor and that it took most of his small wage to

pay his board and room. But, she told the young men, he had managed to save fifty cents

to send them for Christmas, with which she had purchased two boxes of fruit gelatin. It

was one of the children’s favorites and would make a special treat on Christmas day.

Later, long after the young men had left the family, they still asked each other

incredulously, “Fifty cents? . . . Fifty cents for eight children for Christmas?” Surely there

must be something they could do to brighten Christmas for such children.

The next morning, as soon as the local shops opened, the young men hurried to

the dime store and purchased as many crayons, cars, trucks and little inexpensive toys as

they could afford. Each was carefully wrapped in brightly colored paper and all were put

in a large grocery bag. That evening the two young men took their gifts to the shanty on

the riverbank. When they knocked, the mother swung the door open wide and invited

them in. They stepped inside and in halting Spanish explained to the children that they

had seen Santa and he had been in such a hurry he’d asked if they would deliver his gifts

to the children for him.

With cries of delight the children scrambled for the bag, spilling its contents upon

the floor and quickly dividing the treasured packages. Silently the mother’s eyes filled

with tears of gratitude. She stepped forward to clasp tightly one of each of the young

men’s hands in hers. For long moments she was unable to speak. Then, with tears still

welling from her eyes, she smiled and said, “No one ever has been so kind. You have

given us a special gift, the kind of love that lights Christmas in the heart. May we also

give you a special gift?” From the corner of the room she drew out the two small boxes of

fruit gelatin and handed them to the young men. Then all eyes were moist. All knew the

true meaning of giving, and none would ever forget that at Christmas the greatest gift of

all was given (Woman’s Day magazine, December 18, 1979).