A Blanket Kind of Christmas

I want to tell you a Christmas story.

But first I have to tell you that 12-ish years ago, I moved from being a stay-at-home parent to being the primary breadwinner for myself and my two children. This was a brutal upheaval for a lot of reasons, divorce being one of the central ones, but it was also a really intense change to go from a day-to-day schedule that focused on caring for the kids and the home to being in an office for eight or so hours a day.

When I went to my first in-person interview for an entry-level editing job, I was wearing a handmade skirt with a wonky hem. No makeup. No professional attaché case. No power suit.

I headed toward DC in my rough and tumble 4Runner, a car never intended for narrow city streets, and pulled into the parking garage under the organization’s building only to find myself stuck: it was a tight space with only one open spot that I couldn’t quite maneuver into. I’m not going to admit here how many times I have prayed about parking, but this was definitely one of them.

And then a man appeared out of nowhere and stood to the side of me, telling me exactly how to turn my wheels, etc, to sneak into the last space. When I got out of the car, he was gone.

Trembling, I made it into the building and to the interview. The first question was about my greatest weakness. I never prepped for this question, thinking no one would ask it, so I fumbled about and said something about not liking to talk on the telephone. I remember everyone laughing except me.

The rest of the interview kind of went the way the first question did. When it was over, they asked me to stay in the small room where we had been talking. So I did. Sweating and pulling at my hands, wanting to be back in my little house making the kids tuna sandwiches for lunch.

It was a tense 15 minutes or so before the door opened again and I was offered the job on the spot. And I said yes.

My full-time career started the next Monday as a copy editor for The Salvation Army at their National Headquarters in Alexandria, VA.

I would like to pretend that the transition was all merriness and roses and dancing and puppies, but it wasn’t exactly. I sat in that beautiful office, overlooking the Potomac, and cried most of the day, every day. For an entire year.

I entered that building a timid, broken little thing with rock-bottom confidence and a tear factory that never took a break.

But, over several years, working at The Salvation Army changed my life.

It was seeing people of all faiths coming together to do good. I can promise you that when The Salvation Army says they’re out to Do the Most Good, they really are.

My Christmas story starts here with retired Salvation Army Commissioner David Hudson and his wife Commissioner Sharron Hudson. While I was working at headquarters, Dave was the National Commander—kind of like the head of everything for operations in the US—with Sharron working alongside. They might have been in charge of a lot, but they treated every single person in that office as someone with a name and a story and a reason to be loved. They ate lunch with us. They took midday walks along the river with us. And they, specifically, noticed me.

Photo courtesy of David and Sharron Hudson

In case I didn’t make it clear enough before, I was a bit of a mess, and while Dave and Sharron never drew attention to my state of being, they did find so many moments to make me feel like my contribution was particularly needed and particularly important. Their generosity and knack for noticing is a gift to everyone around them.

My first Christmas at The Salvation Army, Dave slipped me a bill during a handshake. I used that money to buy blankets for my kids as a Christmas present. (And, let me tell you, nothing makes you feel more like a struggling single mom than buying blankets as Christmas presents.)

That kindness, like so many other kindnesses (let’s not forget the angel in the parking lot at the beginning), stacked up in a way that when I left The Salvation Army to move across the country, I was a different person—in a good way. No longer crying (as much). No longer unsure how to dress or behave or make decisions or believe in my expertise. Or talk on the phone.

I buy my kids blankets every Christmas in honor of that other Christmas and the blankets are always (just like the first time) their favorite present.

Being able to have Dave on the Constant Wonder | BYUradio podcast was a little dream come true for me. The link below takes you to his advent episode about the red kettle and the bell-ringers. And I’m thrilled to say that we have a longer interview with him that will drop in February.

Being able to share this with you makes me really happy.

And if you have the means, maybe think about dropping something in the kettle this year. Or even buying a blanket for someone who could really use it.