Jim

Grandma had knit countless wool socks for the boys “over there.” She sewed miles of stitches into quilts for missionary projects. But she was always tucking away coins to drop into the red kettle for her own neighbors when the cheery bell rang each Christmas.

My small wad of bills silently falling to the bottom of the kettle is joined by the tear falling on my cheek. “Thank you for showing me the way. I love you!”