Sharing Shame | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Sharing Shame | Previous Challenge Entry
By Charldene Ashley
11/16/08
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When we were young, my identical twin sister and I were forced to share everything; clothing, toys and even our friends. So when we had anything of our own, we held on tightly. By the time we were eight years old, we were hardened little misers—we hated sharing. More than that, we hated when one twin had more than the other.

It was two days before Christmas and presents were piled high under the aluminum tree. It was the most presents we ever had. We hung super-sized stockings on the mantelpiece because we knew Santa was going to give us plenty of goodies this year. Our Dad had promised that when his submarine went under the North Pole, he would radio Santa and put in a good word for us. Still, we missed having Dad around for Christmas. Fortunately, Momma compensated by putting up more decorations, baking more cookies, and buying us a lot more presents.

We knew about the baby Jesus, but in our identically stingy little hearts, Christmas was really about presents. As we did every night, we counted each gift to see how many we would have to share. So far there were only four, leaving plenty for each of us. It wouldn’t be long before we would be up to our pigtails in wrapping paper and ribbons. In an ecstasy of anticipation, my sister and I joined hands and twirled around the room, screaming “This was going to be the absolute bestest Christmas ever!” Around and around we went, knocking into our manger set and chipping Balthazar’s nose. “Oops!” we said, giggling, and continued twirling.

“Girls, come over here,” Momma said, patting the sofa, “It’ll be bedtime soon, I want you two to settle down.” We skipped over and plopped down beside her, our eyes glued to the presents. “Now before I get you your cookies and milk, I’ve got something to tell you. Two little sisters are going to spend Christmas with us. Their dad is at sea with your father and their mother has to stay in the hospital for several weeks until her baby is born. Do you mind?”

“That’s okay,” we said in unison, not taking our eyes off the presents.

“Oh, and another thing...,” continued Momma, shaking our knees to get our attention, “with their father gone and their mother hospitalized, they won’t have many presents. So...uh...I think it would be nice for you to share some of yours.”

“What?!!!” we shrieked in utter disbelief.

“It’s not fair!” I whined. “This is supposed to be our Christmas!”

“Yeah! Ours!” wailed my sister, her hands balled into fists.

“Christmas isn’t just yours or mine, it belongs to everyone...even those little girls,” Momma said in an even voice. “This is the season for sharing—“

Sharing? “No! No! No! No!” I screamed, stamping my feet in disgust.

My sister resorted to crying. Big gulping sobs, followed by long howling moans. Momma appeared unmoved. Couldn’t she see our suffering? Was she just a heart of stone wrapped in an apron? With our loud wailing and gnashing of teeth, we didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

“They’re here!” Momma exclaimed, heading towards the entry hall. “Let’s go meet them.”

We stomped after her, our faces stiff with anger.

She opened the front door.The porch light was off. But even in the dark cold night we could tell they were twins like us; except smaller, blonder and very still. Now curious, we stepped closer—and were thunderstruck! For there stood two of the biggest, most beautiful dolls we had ever seen. Guilt-stricken, we collapsed on our knees and wept in shame. (There may have been a few tears of relief mingled in.)

Later, we sat sniffling at the kitchen table, a plate of warm cookies in front of us. Momma hadn’t said a word since opening the front door, she didn’t need to. When my sister grabbed the biggest cookie, I didn’t complain. Then when she put the cookie back and took a smaller one, it was clear that the shame we shared still stung.

Before we got into bed, we prayed God would help make us less Grinchy. And He has—by never letting us forget that night. Momma had given us an important gift—a glimpse into our own selfish souls. It was a gift my sister and I would always share...without complaint.

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