I was ten years old.  As my family, seven strong, sat around the dinner table that fall night, we were surprised at Dad’s words.  Well, the five kids were, anyway.

“I’ve got five dollars to give to each one of you.  There’s just one catch.  You have to write me a note and tell me what you want to buy with it.  If you don’t write me a note, I won’t give you the money.”

Five dollars!  In 1967 money, that’s almost fifty dollars today.

Five dollars for each of us!  We left the table, little minds spinning with the possibilities.  Even as we headed for bed that night, the ideas were all jumbled in our heads.  My brother and I talked excitedly as we got into our little twin-size erstwhile bunkbeds, across the room from each other.

Wait.  There’s got to be a catch.  He’ll want it to be something worthwhile, won’t he?  I bet I can’t get all the candy and coke I want.  (I did grow up in Texas, so you understand “coke” is any fizzy drink, right?)  I bet it needs to be something like a book.  Or, school supplies.

I didn’t write anything that night, but I didn’t get much sleep either.  My brain kept leaping to new ideas and, just as quickly, rejecting them, believing that the offer might be rescinded for such a flaky or irresponsible idea.  My benefactor was not keen on flaky or irresponsible.

At some time during the night, the temperature outside my South Texas home having dropped below 60 degrees, I felt the chill, and I reached for the scratchy wool military surplus blanket at the foot of the bed.

It was warm, but it wasn’t comfy.  Not snuggly.  You’d be much more likely to describe it as itchy than comfy.  I never liked that blanket.

Blanket!

That was it!  I knew what I would spend my money on!

Sleep finally took me, but when the sun rose and Mom called up the stairs for all the drowsy-eyed boys to get out of bed, I needed no second call.  I dressed and tromped down the steep treads as fast as I could, sitting at the dining table to check the Sears and Roebuck catalog, before hurriedly scribbling a note for my dad.

“I’ll spend my $5 on a soft, thermal blanket with satin edging.  Baby blue or something close.”

Approved!  I got my blanket!

I don’t remember how long I used that blanket, but I loved it.  It was soft and comforting, warm in the winter and cool enough in the summer to leave rolled up beside my body while I slept.

As I think of it now, it was kind of like a hug from my Dad anytime I wanted one.  I may or may not have thought that way about it then.

Nearly fifty years later, I got a check in the mail one fall day.  It was from the same man who gave me those five dollars all those years before.  This check was for five hundred dollars.

He didn’t ask what I would spend the money on before sending it.

No reason; just because.

I bought a new recliner.  My Dad loved a recliner.  I do, too.  I was sure he would approve of my use for his gift.

Somehow, when I sit in that recliner, now with a slipcover over the damaged and cracking leather, it still feels a little like getting a hug from the man, now absent.

I don’t want to preach.

No, really.  I don’t.

So, I won’t.

And the Teacher said to them:

“So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask Him?”
(Matthew 7:11, NLT)

I know.

It kind of feels like a hug, doesn’t it?

And, I’m guessing you could use one of those right about now.

 

“‘For I know what I have planned for you,’ says the Lord. ‘I have plans to prosper you, not to harm you. I have plans to give you a future filled with hope.'” 
(Jeremiah 29:11, NET)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.