~Thought For The Day~ Christmas Edition~ The Little Girl in the Red Sweater ©

     For my entire life there was a story that my Mom told me every Christmas, one that had been told to her by her father. Without fail, at just the right time she would pull me to her and tell me this tale. As my children were growing up, she relayed it to them. This week as we unpacked our Christmas ornaments, Luke reminded me of the story. I will now tell it to you and then follow with my thoughts.

I know a few details but will describe it as I saw it as she told it to me.

There was once a little girl. She was fair haired, she was meek, and she was poor. She had been walking by the local stores every day of the Christmas season, and there in the store front window was a baby doll that she wanted so very much. 

She knew she need not ask her Mother, because they barely had the money to eat. She looked at it so longingly. She loved that doll, and much to her sadness, that large glass window and the price tag she displayed kept her from calling this beautiful baby doll her very own.

She walked past it every day, she stared in wonder, and then she shuffled on.

She would straighten her little worn dress, and button up her thread bare, red sweater, heading back home to her family in the now building cold weather. Always hopeful for a Christmas miracle; she smiled as she left the store front.

I am not sure how it came to be, but by a miracle I would speculate, she was given enough money to finally open the large store door and enter inside to purchase that pretty baby doll that she was so very in love with.

She rushed inside, still very polite and meek, but very eager in her quest to have something of her own.

She walked with the store keep to the front, and carefully he placed this bundle of joy into her arms at last, she surely had a golden light shining around her as she was allowed at last to touch her baby.

As she left the store, smiling so huge, feeling so alive and so blessed, she noticed that it had turned frightfully cold and the snowflakes had begun to fall. She swirled and twirled with her new baby doll, feeling like the luckiest little girl in the world. She couldn’t wait to get home to show her Mama.

The snow falling at a faster rate, but feeling a little tired from the most exciting day she could ever remember. She saw a park bench and decided to take a short rest, it would be dark soon but if she sat for a moment she would have time to make it home before darkness and more snow fell.

She looked down at her precious toy, so new, so shiny and amazing. It quickly occurred to her that the baby doll only wore a thin little dress, so she quickly took off her red sweater with a teddy bear sew upon the pocket, and she wrapped her baby doll up nice and snug. She would be warm and cozy she thought.

She pulled it close to her, smiling, feeling like she had something so very special, she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning when they found the little girl, covered in snow, clutching her baby doll, her tiny body frozen to death by the elements, they saw the honest, genuine smile upon her dear, little face.

She had not thought of herself, she wanted to give warmth to her baby doll, she gave her only shelter from the elements away, and she gave her life to ensure the warmth of another, even it was just an object, it was far more to her. It was love to her, she passed away smiling, holding something close and protecting it, feeling the love of her beloved baby doll returned as she slipped away into the realm of death.

This story has always meant so many things to me. As I discussed it with Luke this week, I felt very sad but also quite fortunate. Sad because this time of year can bring out such materialism in people, but fortunately my Mom had a grasp on something greater and began teaching it to me at a very young age.

Christmas, it can be viewed so many ways, it can be about who gets what, who gives the biggest whatever, a mad sulky feeling because you didn't get something lavish or extravagant. I feel for those who only know this side of Christmas.

Christmas is about love, it is about hope, it holds no dollar amount, it is a time of year that we should clutch as tightly to our chest as the little girl clutched her baby a feeling of love and peace and pass it on, not for just a season, but all year long.

I may not have the perfect tree, in fact mine is leaning heavy to the left, my star is wobbly, but it still shines, I may not have been able to purchase everyone I love something grand, or strut into the mall with a plastic card and load myself down with trivial sale items. I am glad I didn't, I won’t, ever.

Christmas is about giving, not gifts, but of yourself, from your heart. The best gift you can ever give another soul is yourself, love, kindness, friendship and care. Without those, well, you are the one who is far less fortunate than those who understand what giving is really about.

I wish I could reach through and give you all something, not a generous gift, but quite simply, a hug. That to me speaks volumes and that gift can be given in any weather, any season, and it can heal the broken, reassure the sick, and most of make another soul feel that someone else cares.

I hope you all have a beautiful Christmas. Think of what I have said, and think of the little girl in the red teddy bear sweater who understood the act of giving far better than we do.

With Love,

Teresa

©

~Thought For the Day~ A Tattooed Soul ©

      I have had something weighing on my mind for nearly a week and the best way for me to release is to put it into written form and share it with the world, hopefully changing the hearts and minds of my readers.

As most of you know, I have two sons, five and half years apart, they are complete opposites in their passion and interests but there are few things they have in common. I have instilled in them to be who they are, never worrying what others think as long as they are pleased with themselves and also I have worked very hard to teach them good morals and to constantly think of others above yourself, doing good deeds and an positive attitude.

It was brought to my attention that my eldest son was put down, by his own family mind you, for being himself. I saw the deep, hurtful pain in his eyes as he hung his head and told me of the tongue lashing he received and the shame he felt when fired upon. Why did they put him down? For having tattoos:, he wasn’t mistreating animals or kicking elderly people, he has tattoos.

 Saying he would never amount to anything in life because he has ink on his skin.

  One of which had they cared enough to ask is in memory of my Mom, his Nina who he was so very close to.

I have had to contain myself for quite a few days before I could even write this piece. My son, my child is not to be judged by what is on his body. He has a good heart, a beautiful smile, and kindness for others that continues to amaze me.

I am sure many people out there feel that tattoos are not a good thing, and hooray for you, but it might surprise you to know that I myself have two. One is on my left foot, my mother’s handwriting of my nickname that she called me, and also one on my back of the sun and the names of my sons. Oh and I am sure I will have another. Does that change how you feel about me? It shouldn’t, and if it does, shame on you.

What if I had scars on my face, back and shoulders? Would you put me down? What if my hair was purple and I was paralyzed, would you look down on me, and assume I was a nobody?

I hate that my child was subjected to such ignorance and rude behavior, had I been present that conversation and put down session would have ended promptly, but my son also has a personality that strives for peace and will do anything not to raise a fuss.

This same young man that was put down by family that has never taken the time to get to know him is the same young man who has proved himself a man long before his legal age. 

When our dying neighbor was in the last stages of his life, this young man barged into a hospital room to bid a life long friend goodbye, his first encounter of seeing someone on the brink of death.

 This young man who stood by my side and stood firm as I watched my Mom’s health spiral downward and I felt as though my life was over, he saw more in me than I could at the time, and he stood like a man beside me, holding me up.

 As my Mother lay in a hospital, dying, her time down to minutes, he entered her room, totally slammed in the face with a sight that no person should have to see, and when their eyes met, her blood pressure rose to a normal rate, unable to speak, she was letting him know, she loved him, that heart was trying to stay on track for him just so he could spend some time with her.

 He sat beside her, holding her hand, watching a woman who had been there for him his entire life, slip away, and he held it together, he held her, he made their jokes, and gave her tears, I have no doubt that in the last moments of her life, the amount of pride she felt towards him was beyond measure.

Did she care that after her passing that he got tattoos?  Would she care had she lived? No, a huge resounding, NO! Maybe that fellow got them as a way to cope and deal with our loss, I don’t know, but it is his life and his choice.

 She is the very soul that taught me how to mother these boys and the one lesson she was adamant about was that we are all the same, our skin color makes no difference, our social standing means zilch, and material wealth is garbage.

My children are upstanding, good young men, and if you can’t see that, well too bad for you.

In life we will encounter all types of people, large, small, rich, poor, people with tattoos, different skin tones and physical impairments; we are to see the beauty beyond the surface.

I feel sad that there are people in this world who are so obviously ignorant.

If you base your value of a person on things you don’t care for, you live a sad, pathetic life.

Would you turn away a man or woman with tattoos that might be the paramedic that holds your life in their hands?

 Would you deny a person of something because they aren’t just like you, if you would, you are miserable.

I am so sorry my son had to encounter such people in his life already, but they are the ones missing out, and if they had taken time to get to know him, they would find beneath his tattoos, he is becoming one of the best men I know.

 Don’t be ashamed of who you are, be ashamed for the people who are hypocrites, idiots and losers who aren’t bold enough to be who they are, and hide behind society’s ideas of the ideal person.

Be you, and be the best you than you can be.

I will now take my tattooed self outside wearing flip flops for all the world to see my foot, tattoo in tact and be who I am.

I won’t judge you for being you, as long as you are genuine, and you know what,  each person you encounter leaves a tattoo on your soul, long after you are gone. 

Remember that.

Here are my thoughts.

©

Teresa