by Jeannie Waters
The brown paper sack of cornmeal was the most unusual Christmas present I’d ever received. Terry, a shy first grader, placed the unwrapped gift on my desk. I knew that his grandparents sold homemade cornmeal; I suspected giving a bag away was a sacrifice.
I cringed when a saucy little girl in the class wrinkled her nose, pointed to the cornmeal, and asked, “What is THAT? That’s not a Christmas present!”
Noticing Terry’s downcast eyes and slumped shoulders, I cradled the sack in my hands and responded, “It’s cornmeal that Terry’s grandpa made. Now my family can have the best cornbread in town!” The boy’s clear blue eyes peered up at me, and a slight smile brightened his face when I added, “Thank you so much, Terry.”
That sack of cornmeal was a sacrifice, the best Terry had to offer.