Last year, my better half Rose and I elected to take a team of seven middle school kids, a major heap of presents, food and a Christmas tree to a poor family in East Austin. We left directly from chapel, so we were in our Sunday best. That was my most memorable mix-up. We stuffed the tree and the food into Rose's SUV, put the presents in the storage compartment of my vehicle and we were off. We sang holiday songs the whole way to the piece of East Austin where the streets went to soil. The weighty precipitation the prior night had made monster mud pits that we needed to cruise all over. We were searching for the home of Maria Ceballos and her six children. At the point when we at last found the right street, it was a country road with its own tremendous, difficult mud pit solidly in the center of where we needed to go. Be that as it may, I was unafraid. We had Christmas presents to convey. I halted barely shy of the mud pit to plot out the best procedure. It seemed to be assuming we remained to one side of the most profound piece of the mud pit, we could overcome. I changed into gear and promised to continue to move regardless. That was my subsequent slip-up. Into the pit I rolled and my tires quickly began turning, yet the vehicle was not moving. "Got to continue to move," I shared with myself. I turned the wheel hard to the left and afterward hard to the option to hold wheels back from diving into any one spot. It worked. I kept the gas judi sabung ayam hawk down and continued to turn the wheels extreme left and extreme right until I had "strolled" the vehicle all approach to where there was an "practically dry" spot and afterward I maneuvered off the street onto the grass. Then I got out to beware of Rose and the children who were in the SUV behind me. Sure enough she was caught in the mud pit and she was doing the absolute worst thing - gunning the motor and digging herself more profound. These Wisconsin young ladies can drive in snow, however not in past Texas mud. I waved her off and she switched off the motor. She and every one of the children got out of the SUV and into the mud in their pleasant, clean church garments. The little Mexican children from the area just remained there, gazing at us wide-peered toward as though we were insane. I left Rose and the children with the vehicles and strolled down the sloppy street to check whether I could track down the Ceballos' home. Just 50% of the soot block houses and manufactured homes had addresses on them. Nobody appeared to know who Maria Ceballos was or where she resided. I was getting discouraged, figuring we probably won't actually be on the right street and presently we were trapped in the mud with a gathering of hyper-dynamic middle school kids. I pivoted and strolled back toward the vehicles just to see Rose and the children all joyfully walking toward me and conveying packs of presents and the tree - like an award. "What are you doing?" I yelled. "Isn't this where they reside?" Rose inquired. "I felt that is the reason you pulled off the street." The children dropped the Christmas tree in the mud coming back to the vehicle. So presently we had a marginally sloppy Christmas tree to convey. I was doing whatever it takes not to get disappointed. It was Christmas and we were there for a genuine goal. I figured out how to get the SUV unstuck and over onto a semi-dry spot. It seemed as though the street was a piece drier two or three hundreds yards away, however we'd need to clear our path through the remainder of the mud pit to arrive. Our main other option was to return out the manner in which we came in and circumvent the block. We chose to circumvent the block. Above all, we needed to revisit the mud pit from which we had quite recently gotten away. At this point, I felt like a genius. I laid the sledge down and sent mud flying all over the place and successfully returned through the mud pit with no issue. Rose, tragically got stuck once more. Two or three youthful folks saw her frantically battling and approached give her a push from behind with their hands. She immersed one of them in mud as she at long last turned out the opening and came to the opposite side. "Sorry!" she yelled from the window. "No feed problema!" came the reaction. I'm certain the last thing they needed was several elitists with a bunch of youngsters stuck right out in front their home until the end of the evening. We circumvented the block and descended a similar road from the other way lastly tracked down the right house - because of certain men who were out in their front yard playing with chickens on rope. I inquired as to whether these were chicken fightin' chickens and they gladly answered "si" and let me know the names of every chicken. The names seemed like Spanish adaptations of Top Gun slinger pilots. They showed me the fight scars on their chickens like they were awards of honor. I told one of the men out front that we were bringing "regalos de Navidad" and he yelled in Spanish to the open windows of the Ceballos' home. Very quickly six little Ceballos kids came pouring out of the house with completely open, eager eyes. "Donde esta Maria Ceballos?" I asked, and every one of the children highlighted the entryway of the soot block house. I could see Maria timidly looking at us from behind the entryway. "OK folks, everyone empty the gifts and follow me." We were at last home. Seven middle school children and Rose plunged on the little house like a twister and set up the tree on the cool, substantial floor of the lounge room. Then came every one of the presents and the food. The Ceballos kids promptly started crushing and shaking the presents and searching for their names. During the whole excursion, little Tiffany Wilson had been conveying a spic and span stuffed kitty with no name on it. She alone knew who it went to. "Quien es Daisy?" she at last asked and a young lady lifted her hand. Tiffany strolled over and gave the kitty to Daisy and she cuddled it near her chest and grinned. It was a delightful sight. We sang the main Spanish holiday song that everybody knew - Feliz Navidad. Then, at that point, we said a request of gift on the Ceballos' home. As we left the house, the men outside had chosen to give us a show. They delivered the chickens and quickly they began battling. Our congregation kids just remained there - with mouths open. "For what reason are they battling?" a young lady asked me. "It's their nature," I said. "At the point when you get two male chickens together, they generally battle. This is quite possibly of the greatest game in Mexico. Everyone puts down wagers on the chicken they need to win. The chicken left standing successes." Pretty much that time, one of the men inquired as to whether I needed to wager $5.00. That was our prompt to leave. "Gracias. Feliz Navidad," I said and we heaped seven sloppy youngsters into the vehicles and left. As I mulled over everything, I understood that the Ceballos family might have effortlessly been my family five ages back, when my precursors previously came to Texas from Northern Mexico. Those folks out front with the chickens might have effortlessly been my uncles. I envisioned that I had traveled once more into the past to give my family a Christmas tree and a heap of presents and food and I considered how I would have felt as a small child seeing heaps of presents being brought into our home - absolutely unforeseen. For one minute, I was that youngster, and my heart expanded with energy. And afterward I contemplated whether I truly could travel once more into the past and give my own precursors a gift. What might I give my progenitors, realizing that it could one day help me? My creative mind roamed free. Could I provide them with the endowment of schooling? 1,000,000 bucks to contribute throughout the following five ages until it was passed down to me? Stock in Coca Cola which could increment throughout the long term? Political associations like the Hedge's or the Kennedy's? Confidence in God? As my brain meandered, it traveled endlessly further once more into the past . . . to quite a while back . . . to an old slope ignoring a little town where shepherds were watching their groups by starlight. And afterward I understood that God had previously returned into my past and given me a gift - the best endowment of all - the introduction of his child Jesus Christ . . . what's more, I grinned.