Linda and I were early in our dating relationship when we were gifted with an experience that still awakens the Christmas spirit within us. I was 19 and she was 16. It was the middle of December when the seed of the memory was sown on a road in a remote, heavily forested area behind Mission B.C.

I recall with great clarity the dark cloud that moved in rapidly and unexpectedly unleashed a drenching downpour. The windshield wipers could scarcely cope with the deluge. Ahead of us a grey figure became discernible, bumping in our direction beside the road. I slowed the car as we passed by. It was an elderly woman, her sodden coat wrapped tightly about her. Face toward the ground and shoulders slumping forward, she appeared feeble, miserable and utterly dejected.

Linda gasped and said, “she needs help!” I turned the car around and pulled alongside her. “Would you like a ride?” I asked. She nodded wearily, relief and gratitude on her lined, disconsolate face. I opened the rear door and, encumbered by her heavy wet coat, she clambered in awkwardly.

In a quiet, slightly quavering voice, she directed us to an obscure graveled road. After a couple of minutes, she said “There, that’s where I live.” I pulled the car into a barely discernible driveway and opened the door for her. “Thank you,” she said, “I wasn’t sure I’d get here.” Her teeth chattered but she declined my offer to assist her to the door of her small ramshackle home.

I forgot about the woman, but Linda didn’t. The evening of December 24th, an almost full moon shining overhead, we drove again to the elderly woman’s home. Pale light shone through the only 2 windows. Walking toward the house, holding hands, we heard a dog bark inside. I knocked on the door, and the dog barked again. After waiting a long minute in the chill night air, I knocked a second time, more vigorously. Still no answer. I made a fist and banged with considerable force. Excited barking suggested the presence of several dogs.

Finally the door creaked opened just enough to reveal the woman’s wispy visage and uncombed white hair. A crescendo of raucous barking erupted behind her. It was evident she wasn’t accustomed to company, especially two strangers after darkness had set in. She peered warily through the barely open door.

“Hello,” Linda said. “We picked you up a few weeks ago when it was raining so hard. We’re here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

Reassured, she stepped out onto the porch, clad in a flimsy house coat. “I’d invite you in,” she said apologetically, “but I have 11 dogs in there.”

She glanced up at the nearly full moon, then asked, “Is it really Christmas?” The light of the moon revealed a lonely, wistful expression on her upturned face. “When I was a child my grandparents took me to church with them one Christmas Eve,” she said. “There was a manger and shepherds with sheep. A baby lay in the manger. They said it was Jesus. That was many years ago. I had not thought of it in a long time.”

We talked for about 5 minutes, then she shivered and pulled the house coat more tightly about her thin frame. She had no resistance against the crisp December evening. Realizing she needed to go back inside, Linda presented her with a small gift and we bade her farewell. She followed us to the car. As I backed onto the road, she stood clearly silhouetted in the light of the moon. Waving vigorously, she called, “Au revoir! Au revoir!” I turned down the car window, waved, and responded “auf wieder sehen!” As we drove away, she continued to wave and call out “au revoir!”

In time, Linda and I were married, adopted 2 wonderful children and became immersed in our careers. The memory of that night faded and I no longer thought of the little white haired lady. Then, a few years ago just before Christmas, the events of that night came back to me unexpectedly. In my mind I saw her again, standing in the driveway illuminated by the moon, waving with great fervour and calling “au revoir!”

Now each year, the memory rekindles the Christmas spirit that otherwise might lie dormant within me. It’s a reminder that when we bring joy into someone’s life, we also receive joy.

Christmas cards depicting the 3 Magi riding camels across a barren desert in the night still evoke a sense of magic and mystique in me. According to the Biblical account, they came from the East bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Likely born into nobility and affluence, they intended the gifts for a child they believed would one day become an important ruler. Certainly in the culture of their time, the gifts were deemed appropriate for presentation to a king.

They may have been surprised upon their arrival to learn that the infant boy they had come to honour was born in a stable. Even so, they bowed before him, apparently believing he was of royal lineage and would one day bring a message of peace and goodwill to all people. For the parents, the unexpected recognition given to their infant son must have filled them with astonishment and many questions.

Each December I feel impelled to again read this remarkable saga. Last week while pondering its meaning, I began thinking about the gifts given by the Magi. Contrasting that with the tradition of gift giving in our time, I wondered if our emphasis is misplaced. Most of us seem to have little understanding of what makes a gift significant and precious to the recipient.

I went to what I refer to as my “shelf of memories.” Among the items on the shelf are several treasured gifts given to me over the years. Although most have little financial value, each still elicits a sense of nostalgia.

Standing before the shelf for long moments, as I have done many times, I reflected on the meaning and memory represented by each item. Each gift was unanticipated.

One day our daughter Vivian, then age 8, rushed home from school, her eyes sparkling. Excitedly she handed me a card she had created. On the front a curious red fox is sitting on its haunches, gazing quizzically at the world. Inside she had printed, “Daddy, you play so much with us. You start to giggle and laugh. I love you. I hope you like the red fox. You’re like this red fox.”

The next day our son Jeremy, then age 6, watched my face with great anticipation as he handed me a card. An athlete holding a basket ball is saying, “you score high with me.” In large block letters he had printed, “I love you Daddy.”

About a dozen years ago I was asked to write and deliver the eulogy for my very good friend Terry. He had been successful in real estate, but not in relationships with women. Two ex-wives were in the audience, as well as his estranged present wife, plus his current girlfriend. One lawsuit was already pending and I didn’t want to be the object of another. I needed to apply my life experiences and whatever wisdom I could muster. Possibly the seriousness of the occasion enabled them to overlook any failings on my part, even when I inadvertently attributed several children to the wrong woman. A week later the girlfriend came to our home and presented me with Terry’s very expensive watch. “Terry had a high regard for time,” she said. “ He sometimes said a good friendship is timeless. He would have wanted you to have this watch.”

Also on the shelf is a card showing a magnificent eagle on a limb. The caption reads, “Always an eagle.” It was from Gwen, then a fellow Toastmaster. I had sought to encourage her in public speaking. In the card she had written, “I really appreciate all that you are and do.” Affirming messages don’t come to me often enough to be cavalier about them. I accepted this one gladly.

Stepping away from the shelf, I concluded that gifts tend to be most special when they involve an investment of time, effort, and thoughtfulness. Often they recognize the recipient’s contribution, positive example, service to family or community. Their intrinsic worth. They develop connections and create memories we cling to. The best ones bring a spark of excitement and joy.

The Magi travelled many days across possibly perilous terrain. They honoured the child with gifts fit for a king. Even more important, they bowed before him, an indication they believed him worthy of their reverence and worship. It was the ultimate special gift.