Old debt accompanied our new marriage. Income from Peter's free-lance job was unpredictable. As Christmas approached and other couples were buying furniture or gold jewelry, we agreed to exchange gifts that had cost no money. A hundred times I forced myself not to buy the perfect jacket for Peter (or the perfect holiday dress for myself). My inner Grinch had stolen my Christmas spirit. I grumbled, "Here it is, our first Christmas together, and we can't even afford to buy a tree."
I awoke Christmas morning to find a large package on the kitchen table.
"You promised you wouldn't spend any money on me," I chided.
"I didn't," he grinned. "Not one penny." Instead, he had sold his racquetball racquet, his most cherished possession, to buy me a blender. I cried. Not because the blender was my dream gift–I could have lived my entire life without one–but because my husband had sacrificed something of himself for me. I went to bed that night praising God: "Thank you for making us 'poor.' Otherwise, I'd never have known how rich I am."
