The year was 1976 and my wife and I had just received our first appointment as a married couple in Melfort, Sask. To our delight, our first child arrived early in the fall. For the first time, I stood by a kettle outside the local Steadman's store in temperatures that dipped to -30 C. It was also my first real exposure to poverty at a level that I had not encountered before.

A prairie town of 5,000 located 300 kilometres north of Regina, Melfort was enjoying a time of economic prosperity. The harvest had been plentiful and the farmers were smiling from ear to ear. The response of the community to the Army's kettle campaign was generous. Times were good, but not for everyone. There was a dark side that was hidden from the townspeople's view.

When I asked the public health nurses for names of families that could benefit from a Christmas hamper from the Army, they directed me to families living on the outskirts of town. Many were unemployed single moms struggling to survive. They lived in shacks lacking modern conveniences that most of us take for granted. Their yards were strewn with rusted-out vehicles from a bygone era.

My parents had joined us in December to see their grandchild and to lend a hand during the busy Christmas season. And so on a bitterly cold day under clear skies, my father and I set out in a car filled with food hampers, wrapped toys and handwritten directions to places unknown.

Off the main highway, the roads were seldom signposted. The odd grain elevator, country store and barn were the only landmarks. At one point we skidded off the road to avoid an oncoming pickup truck as we did our best to follow directions: “Three miles south on Highway 6. Turn left at the Co-op gas station and go east for two miles. Turn left at the United Church and then right past the Cargill grain elevator. Second house on the right. Beware of dog!”

Our final delivery was to Olive, a single mom with five children ages three to 13. To say they were poor would be an understatement. We found her and two of her children at home. Because she had no telephone, the nurse had not informed Olive that the Army lieutenant would be calling with a Christmas hamper. Our visit was a complete surprise.

Dad and I unloaded the food and toys, and following a brief conversation and a prayer, we said our goodbyes to a mother who was left speechless by the kindness of strangers. The two young children were far less timid. They had proceeded to unwrap all of the gifts during our talk with the Almighty!

Years later, my father and I still reminded each other of that eventful day. Many played a role in making the gifts possible to Olive and the others. There were volunteers who stood on the kettle and rang the bells in the cold; there were people who purchased and packed the hampers, searching carefully for the right toys for the children; and there were generous citizens who trusted the Army with their hard-earned donations.

For the first time, Christmas took on a new and fresh meaning for a young officer blessed with more than one could deserve.

Major Jim Champ is Editor-in-Chief and Literary Secretary for The Salvation Army. He is also a member of the Governing Board of the Canadian Council of Churches.