One of the things that frustrates me during Christmastime is that I keep losing my wife in the malls. She will probably tell you that it is the other way around—she keeps losing me.

You know how it is. You are shopping together and talking, weaving in and out and around other shoppers and suddenly you realize that you are talking to yourself. Somewhere between the shoe store and the video store she disappeared. Something caught her eye and she stepped behind a coat rack and “puff,” she vanished. So you spend the next half-hour peeking into boutiques, stretching your neck around corners and sitting on benches, hoping to catch sight of her. And when you do find her, she says, “Where have you been? I wanted you to look at this dress.”

But this year I have a solution. When we go into the mall we'll check our watches and head in different directions. She will shop for me and I will shop for her, and we will meet at the kettle at a designated time.

I assume that you know what I mean when I refer to the kettle. The Salvation Army Christmas kettle. Some people call it the Salvation Army bubble. It's that plastic thingy hanging from the red stand, alongside of which is usually a smiling, young Salvationist thanking those who drop donations into the little money slot. And by the way, those money slots are way too small … I know because I have often been the smiling, young Salvationist standing there. OK, I'm not so young anymore, but I'm still smiling, and I have a lot of memories of kettle experiences.

There was that young mother with her seven-year-old daughter. The mother helped the little girl put a donation in the bubble and I smiled and said thank you. Then she proceeded to tell me about her wedding. She said that when her fiancé gave her an engagement ring, she was very excited but thought it was way too expensive for a Christian to wear. A few days later, she and her fiancé went back to the jewelry story and exchanged it for a less expensive one and received a refund for the difference.

Because it was near Christmas, the Army kettles were in the malls. She and her fiancé walked up to one of the kettle stands and stuffed the refund into the little money slot. Every year since, she has gone to the mall with their children and repeated that act of generosity. And each Christmas, she tells the person at the kettle the story of her engagement ring.

Then there was the time when someone walked up to the kettle I was manning and left me with a six-pack of beer. Actually, it was a five-pack, because he kept one for himself. Now you must know that as a Salvationist I do not drink, but I did not have time to explain this to the generous donor. His wife had been baking a Christmas pudding and the recipe called for so many ounces of beer. She sent him to the store to get some but he couldn't buy just one bottle, so he bought a case, took one out and placed the six-pack-minus-one at my feet, saying that perhaps someone else was baking and might need it.

Before I could explain that this was probably not a good idea, he was gone. There I was in full Salvation Army uniform standing at the kettle with a case of beer (less one bottle) at my feet. I discreetly covered it with my overcoat. I knew that the donor's heart was in the right place, but the beer was not.

Then I realized that here was a golden opportunity to have some fun. When my shift ended, I walked out of the mall with my overcoat over the beer case and headed for the corps officer's house. Knocking on the door, I waited for him to appear. It was about 10 p.m. by now and he was no doubt putting the finishing touches to his sermon. When he opened the door, I thrust the box into his arms with a hearty, “Merry Christmas,” and headed back down the driveway. He was shouting something in the darkness as I got into my car, but my laughter drowned it out. I think it was something about what happened to the other bottle!

This Christmas I don't know what stories will be created or told around the kettle, but if you see a lonely man standing nearby, straining his neck to find his wife among the thickening crowd, it's probably me.

Major Fred Ash is the corps officer at Burlington Community Church, Ont.