Christmas Traditions

**My girls do so love our Christmas Traditions. But not as much as I loved creating them for Them. We had none in my family. When poverty is your world, survival is your reward.
My girls would have better. And boy did I create some good stuff. Some by accident, like Santa coming while we were at Christmas eve services to leave P.J's on the girl's bed. When the oldest was 4 I accidently left her Christmas Pj's on the bed before we left for church. When we came back she went in her room and said,"Look mommy, Santa left me pajamas." So EVERY year for 23 years Santa has left a pair of Christmas Pj's on each girl's bed for them to find when we get home from church. To this very day, after Christmas eve service, a 26 yr old little girl, a 22 yr old little girl & a 19 yr old little girl, runs up the stairs as soon as we get home to see what Pj's Santa has left for them. (This year our son & 2 MeMe babies will do the same) They never knew how they got there til just a couple of years ago. You see, Mommy always forgot her Bible EVERY year and had to run back in the house to get it. That is when mommy put 3 pairs of Pj's on each bed. A simple thing, but HUGE in a child's heart. Tradition. We have a few. Stockings that mommy & daddy make sure is personalized to each girl's personality. And 3 Advent calenders with chocolate inside** But I read this story and thought what a wonderful tradition and thought you would like to read it, if you haven't heard it already.
#Come back and share your Christmas traditions. I'd love to hear them! #

The Story that Inspired The White Envelope Project.
This story was originally published in the December 14, 1982 issue of Woman’s Day magazine. It was the first place winner out of thousands of entries in the magazine’s “My Most Moving Holiday Tradition” contest in which readers were asked to share their favorite holiday tradition and the story behind it. Woman’s Day continues to support this tradition and The White Envelope Project today.
“For the Man Who Hated Christmas”by Nancy W. Gavin
It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past ten years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas--oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it--overspending... the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears.
It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.” Mike loved kids - all kids - and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition--one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on.
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn’t end there.You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing to take down the envelope.
Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit will always be with us.