The Christmas Miracle

December 28, 1986

For me, Christmas is very meaningful. There is something in the air that makes me contemplate and meditate, and a general feeling of happiness envelops me. I go for long walks and dance with my shadow. Christmas bells chime in my mind, and my whole body vibrates. Christmas carols bring tears to my eyes.

These experiences are very personal and as subtle as fragrance. I can experience them, but I cannot describe them in appropriate words. If you try to describe the aroma of a unique fragrance, you will understand my dilemma. I wish I could capture that beauty in my words.

I was ten years old when I first realized that something unusual takes place within me during this season. I did not know what or why. As a child, I used to think that it was because I was born in December.

The feeling is not just one experience that takes place in isolation. It is like a drama unfolding. It is as if I am being presented with a new book to read. It is a majestic feeling.

This year, it was a new lesson–one I had learned many times and had forgotten. This time, I could almost smell the fragrance–almost grasp the essence–of what one would normally call sacrifice. It was as if someone were teaching me about the illusion of sacrifice. There is sacrifice and, yet, there is no sacrifice, ever. It was as if a magician had taken me backstage and was showing me how a mysterious trick is performed.

I was driving west on Maple Street near Town West Shopping Center, in Wichita. Christmas music was playing on the radio. I was in the car only physically where the cells of my body were dancing with the music. Emotionally, I was part of a choir singing someplace else.

At that moment, the ever-so-gentle voice of the teacher interrupted: “Nothing takes place without sacrifice. The source of all happenings is sacrifice.” 

Those who have had such experiences will understand that these were not audible words. It was a complex feeling, but the meaning was clear.

A seed must sacrifice its life for a tree to grow. A sperm must sacrifice its life for an egg to be fertilized. Parents must sacrifice for their children to grow. This universe, as we know it, is an act of sacrifice on the part of that which we call God. The movement of the whole world would stop if there were no sacrifice. This is the law of the universe. There are no exceptions. 

Scriptures of all religions of all times attest to this. The entire universe stands as a witness to this process. Yet illusion prevents us from understanding. We value safety and security, not sacrifice.

In those feelings, I witnessed the world in the time of Jesus. People could not understand why he was not a good tradesman. They could not understand his not raising a family in order to protect the family lineage. To them, he was a failure as a householder, the prime responsibility of any male. Those who knew him realized that he had a sharp mind and had the potential to be rich and powerful. Instead, people thought he was an eccentric who had fallen prey to questionable people and teachings; that his teachings were idealistic and impractical.

I was reminded that had Jesus not been willing to be crucified, perhaps no one would even know of him today. It was the act of crucifixion, an act of total sacrifice, that caused his teachings to take root.

The magician took me backstage and showed me the illusion of sacrifice. In reality, there is no such thing as sacrifice. There is no separation between anything. When the hand sacrifices the food to the mouth, the hand does not lose. It wins. It will only lose if it does not let go of the food. There is really no sacrifice in sacrifice. The word only describes an illusion.

I lived with the beautiful feelings of this experience for several days. Then the magician led me through the illusion, step by step. I had to apply what I had learned in actual practice.

####

It was December 19, and I was worried about the cash flow at Trees for Life. Then in the afternoon mail we received a check for $1,000 from one of our board members. My inner voice said, Send the money to India.

Over the years, I have come to respect the directions of this inner voice. Hard experience has taught me not to question this voice anymore. So, I suggested to Treva that we send the money to India. Her eyebrows went up. No words were necessary.

I knew her pain well. There was less than $10 in the Trees for Life treasury. The two computer printers needed repairs; a stack of bills needed attention; the salary of two part-time employees had to be taken into consideration; we needed to draw a salary. Christmas was here. We were expecting 22 guests for Christmas dinner. During the holidays we were going to have nine house guests.

“Are you sure that is what he intended this money to be used for?” Treva inquired.

“I have no idea what HE intends,” I said.

Treva was referring to Larry, the contributor, while I was referring to someone beyond my comprehension.

There was a familiar contortion on Treva’s face. It was a sign of pain which she could not describe or share in words. She was crying inside and controlling the flow of tears. I could feel every iota of her pain. I had the choice to change my mind. I wavered. An image flashed through my mind. Mother Teresa tells how she had taken food to a hungry woman who had not eaten in four days. The woman disappeared and kept Mother Teresa waiting. The woman had taken that food to feed another person who had not eaten for seven days.

“They need the money in India worse than we do. The planting season is here.” I said.

“I’ve been worrying about that, too.” Treva said, wiping her tears. Soon she typed out a cover letter to accompany the funds to India. 

“Where will the money come from for our other needs?” she inquired. It was a rhetorical question that she had asked many times in the past. She knew my patent answer, and I knew the irritation it caused her.

“There is only one Source.”

I pretended to get busy with the load of papers on my messy desk. Treva needed to get away from it all and left for an errand, taking the outgoing mail with her. A couple of hours passed before she returned.

It was time to leave the office for the day. Treva was drained, and I was helpless, unable to console her. Then the telephone rang.

“What is your tax ID number?” the voice on the other end requested.

I scrolled through my telephone rolodex and gave her the number.

“Who is this?” I inquired.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “This is Glenda, Darrell’s secretary. He just asked me to transfer 100 shares of PepsiCo to Trees for Life.”

I knew that the donation was worth more than $3,500.

“Glenda, I will thank HIM personally,” I said. “Will you also please do that on my behalf?”

She thought I meant Darrell—and that, too, was all right. For me, he represents HIM.

Darkness had enveloped the street. In silence we drove toward home. As we passed the same spot on Maple Street, I could hear the Christmas bells ringing. I remembered the lesson on the illusion of sacrifice. I reached over and touched Treva’s hand and said, “There is only one Source.”

Very gently she squeezed my hand. I looked at her. There was a gentle smile on her face, as if to say, “I know that.”