The 12 Days of Christmas

By Cori Burner

It’s been twenty some years since this experience, but it made a profound effect on my life.

 

My parents had always taught my three brothers and I the value of giving service to others. We learned by their example. I was in my teens, maybe about 14 when this experience occurred. I was an avid reader and had read about how one had celebrated the 12 days of Christmas anonymously with another. I loved the idea and soon began planning with whom I could share this holiday idea with.

 

I picked out an elderly lady who lived down the street. Her name was Mrs. Harlow. She lived in a very humble brick house, whose huge bushes flanked the small front porch on either side. The kids in the neighborhood always thought she was mean and kind of weird. And I must admit, I did too. I would see her outside, dressed in worn out tennis shoes, with knit stockings; a housedress on with an apron over it, and then a sweater. Her head was always covered with a scarf. And she would be seen sweeping the gutters. Not just the gutter in front of her house, but even a block or two away, she would be sweeping the gutters in the street! To me, that was weird!

 

On a cold December day, I crept down to her house, crawled under the bush flanking her tiny porch, placed the gift of a piece of fruit on the porch and knocked. Quickly, I hid back under the bush and waited. She opened the door a few minutes later, and with a puzzled expression on her face, looked around, retrieved the fruit and went back inside. I waited a few minutes and then quickly crawled from my hiding place and ran home.

 

Each day followed pretty much the same way, only the items left on the porch increased in number for each day. Along about the seventh or eighth day, I followed the routine as I had before...placing the gift on the porch, knocking on the door, and then hiding and waiting. I knocked and waited. Nothing happened. So, I carefully crept to the side of the porch and started to reach out and knock again, when I heard the door open. I froze by the side of the porch. She bent down to retrieve the gift, looked me square in the eye, and returned to her house. I was mortified. I had been found out. I ran from the bush and cried. I had wanted to keep it a secret, and now I was found out. I debated whether to quit or continue. I continued.

 

The next few days continued much in the same manner, only I was a lot more cautious. Finally, Christmas Day arrived, and I hesitantly put on my coat to make the final walk down the street. This time there would be no hiding under the bush. I would come face to face with Mrs. Harlow; not knowing what I would say, or much less what she would say. With a pillar candle in hand as the final gift of goodwill, I approached the door and knocked. The door opened and I was invited into the humble home by her son. I gave her the candle and wished her a Merry Christmas. She thanked me, and with tears in her eyes told me that if it hadn't been for me, she wouldn't have had a Christmas.

I looked around the room and there was no tree with presents under it; no cheery holiday cards decorating the walls; no Christmas carols playing in the background. In fact, the room was dimly lit. My view of her dramatically changed; for she was no longer the weird lady down the street who swept the gutters and dressed in mismatched clothes. But here before me stood, a humble lady who just happened to be lonely.

 

I saw her around the neighborhood in the years that followed. I'd say hello to her as she'd continue to sweep the gutters. But she was no longer the weird and mean lady down the street. She was just a humble lady who was trying to make her corner of the world a little brighter. She was trying to make a difference. The years have passed, and although I had done this same celebration of the 12 days of Christmas with others, none had had such a profound effect on me as this experience had. Mrs. Harlow has long since passed on. And I haven't thought about her in years; but in my mind I can still see her sweeping the gutters and making a difference. For she certainly made a difference in my life.