Lighting the Way Home

by Anne Cassidy

 Lisa Howard of Grand Haven, Michigan, had her hands full in December 2008. Her husband, Bob, a major in the National Guard, had been serving in Iraq for 11 months, so she was caring for her boys Brendan, 4, and Connor, 3, solo— and they kept her hopping. Add in her three-days-a-week job as a physical therapist and Lisa had a lot to juggle.

She’d seen her husband just once since he’d left for Iraq, and sadly it was when he returned briefly for his father’s funeral. It had been a tough year, but the family had stayed close through phone calls, e-mails, and videotaped bedtime prayers. Being strong was simply what Lisa did. She didn’t consider herself a hero. But someone at her job did.

A few weeks before Christmas, Lisa found some candy canes left on her desk as part of a holiday gift exchange. Next to them was a letter informing her that she had been nominated for the Decorated Family program sponsored by Christmas Decor, an outdoor holiday decorating franchise that lights the homes of up to 200 deserving military families free of charge. The letter included a snippet from the nomination form, and as she read it she began to cry:

 “How do you describe a 3-year-old who just wants his daddy home to tuck him in at night? How do you make sure a heavy heart does not weigh you down? Strength, faith, and love—the core of the Howard family. As Lisa, Brendan, and Connor anxiously await Bob’s return, please help them light the way home for a dearly missed father, husband, son, and soldier—a man and a family who gave up much so others wouldn’t have to.” The letter was signed “Secret Santa” and an added notation said, If this guy calls you, don’t hang up on him.

The “guy” was Dave DeVries, owner of a Christmas Decor franchise in western Michigan. A week later he did call to tell Lisa that her family was in the running. But she demurred. “I told Dave that if there was a more deserving family to pick them,” says Lisa.

"That’s pretty much how the letter described you,” DeVries told her, laughing. “It said you were very selfless.” Days later he called back. “We’re doing your house,” he said.

The lights went up a few days before Bob Howard was due home from Iraq. When he returned on December 21, his house looked like a Christmas card. “It was really amazing,” he says. “It was so nice for folks I didn’t even know to do this.”

A week before the holiday, Lisa learned the identity of her Secret Santa, the one whose nomination letter had moved her to tears and who’d left the letter and candy canes on her desk. It was Jean Nielsen, a coworker Lisa had known for years.