Are you a fan of Black Friday? Do you drag yourself out of bed at the crack of dawn, fortify yourself with coffee, and rush out to hit the sales? I’ve never been part of the Black Friday crowd. It’s only been in recent years that I’ve started shopping early for Christmas. Let me explain why I avoid Black Friday.

That November, I was so proud of myself. I’d managed to scrimp and save to buy the perfect gifts for my toddler daughter and kindergarten-aged son. I’d found an adorable plastic shopping cart, complete with groceries for my daughter to go along with her play kitchen. For my son, I’d picked up the perfect Hot Wheels cars and race track. It was only the end of November, and I’d finished this vital part of my shopping list. I carefully placed the gifts in large black trash bags and hid them in the corner of our unfinished basement.

As time passed, I continued working on my Christmas list, secure in the knowledge the two most essential gifts were safely hidden in the basement.

One evening once the kids were asleep, about three days before Christmas, I snuck down to the basement. I tiptoed over to the corner, barely able to contain my excitement. For once, I’d managed to find the exact gifts on my kids’ wish list.

As I approached the corner, I realized it was empty. No hidden gifts, no black trash bags. I scurried around the basement, poking into dark corners looking for the Christmas gifts. Where could they be!

I ran upstairs and pounced on my unsuspecting husband. “Where are the Christmas gifts?”

Of course, Randy didn’t have a clue why I was so upset. He was the man who notoriously saved his Christmas shopping for Christmas Eve. Each year, Randy tried to convince me there were better sales on Christmas Eve. He also applied his theory to Valentine’s Day. He’d buy candy the day after because it was 50% off, and he could buy a bigger box. His explanation failed to impress me.

In a shaky voice, I explained that I’d hid the kids’ Christmas presents in black trash bags and put them in the corner of the basement.

His jaw dropped, and he looked at me with disbelief in his eyes.

“Robin, think for a moment. Where do I store the trash until I have enough to haul to the dump?”

I gasped, and my heart dropped to my toes. We lived outside the city limits and had to haul our trash. We generally stuck it in the unfinished basement, as we didn’t have a garage to put it in. Even in the middle of winter in Alaska, you didn’t stick trash outside as it attracted hungry critters.

Randy ran downstairs and rechecked the basement, and slowly trudged upstairs to face a sobbing wife.

Almost in hysterics, I grabbed his arms and begged him to go to the dump to look for the bags of toys. He tried to calm me down and explained that he’d hauled the trash several weeks ago and that whatever he’d dropped off was no doubt buried in a mound of debris. In a final stab at slowing down my tears, he hugged me and soothingly stroked my back. He softly murmured, “Just appreciate the fact that the children of the worker at the dump are probably having a wonderful Christmas.”

Let’s just say, things pretty much went downhill after my husband’s exceptionally thoughtful declaration. I didn’t want to think about other kids enjoying my children’s presents! I’m pretty sure I didn’t speak to him for a couple of days hours.

Eventually, I realized my expectations of my husband going to the dump and digging through the trash were slightly unreasonable. But in my mind, I envisioned him in a Superman cape, plunging into the piles of molding debris. With the use of his x-ray vision, he would locate the missing gifts, then rise victoriously from the trash with our Christmas presents in hand. Yep, maybe my expectations were a tad unreasonable.

So the next day, I joined the harried last-minute shoppers buying Christmas presents. I found similar gifts for the kids and stayed up all night Christmas Eve putting miles of teeny tiny dividing line stickers on the Hot Wheels race track.

Christmas morning arrived, and the kids loved their presents, especially the boxes. As I watched our children play with their boxes, I realized the presents were the least of the day’s gifts. The real gifts were the love of family, and most importantly, the gift of a Savior born in a manger.

So through the years, I’ve avoided shopping on Black Friday. I spend Thanksgiving thanking God for all the gifts and blessings He has showered on my life during the year. And enjoying time with family and friends.

My only regret? This episode further ingrained my husband’s habit of Christmas shopping at the last moment.

With a wink, he reminds me that he’s never lost a Christmas present.