The mission my wife Dale gave me was, in her mind, fairly simple: drive to the store with our two boys, Mark and Brad, and return with two strands of outdoor Christmas lights. This was part of her multiyear experiment in which she tried to gauge how much risk she could take in sending us on rudimentary errands without sustaining massive economic overkill as we brought home a host of items that were not on the shopping list.

You'd think she would have learned her lesson after the time she sent us out to buy some baking flour and we came back with a four person raft.

"Couldn't you have at least bought the flour too?" she asked.

"They were out," I replied.

"Out of flour? Dave, you went to a sporting goods store! They don't carry baking flour!"

"Well, that explains it, then," I said.

Logic is such a rare commodity today.

Our Christmas decorating began modestly, with a few strands of lights around a couple of windows. That wasn't enough for the kids once they saw how cheap the lights were.

"These only cost two bucks for a hundred lights," Brad whispered softly, lest any other shoppers notice the great deal.

"Well, I guess we could get a few more," I said.

Mark began scooping lights off the shelf by the armful.

"Um, Mark, 'a few' does not mean 'all,'" I said.

"But they're on sale! We can light up our whole house almost for free! Even the roof!" Mark said.

"Plus, it would be fun!" Brad said.

The logic was unassailable.

We bought enough Christmas lights to illuminate a large metropolitan runway, or perhaps even a small nation. The result was so visually stunning that we scarcely noticed the sharp whine of the electric meter as it spun like a buzz saw.

Dale could not walk outside at night without using sunglasses.

But our neighbor across the street, an elderly woman named Millie, loved the display.

Millie was a widow. She rarely left her home because she looked after an equally aging relative who lived next door to her. She watched ministers on the television and prayed in her home.

"I just love to see your lights!" Millie told Dale one day. "I look forward to it each year. I can't get out so much anymore, but I can look out my window and enjoy the sight. It makes my Christmas."

In the years that followed our introduction to our grandmotherly neighbor, Dale, Millie, and other ladies would occasionally get together for tea or a visit. And Dale would just pop in on Millie now and then to chat. It meant the world to Millie just to see our kids playing in the front of her house.

But as the boys grew, developing new hobbies and interests, our annual festival of lights began to dim. We would still put up lights, but fewer of them, and sometimes just days before Christmas. Life was just so busy.

One year Brad said, "Let's just hang a couple strands on the fence. We live on a dead end street so no one even sees it except us and a couple of neighbors. Besides, it's almost Christmas and we'll just have to take them down in a week."

I agreed, forgetting for a moment about one old, frail, sweet person.

But Dale was now leading the charge of the light brigade.

"It's important for Millie, even if no one else sees them. Please go put up everything."

So Brad and I got the ladders and flashlights and trudged out into the night.

Jesus said that God notices, and rewards, small acts of thoughtfulness done in his name, even down to giving a thirsty person a glass of cold water. It may not seem like a big deal to us, but no kind act will be forgotten by Him. I think one of the biggest lessons you can teach your kids is the truth that little things matter to God. And little people matter to God.

It only took a few hours to light up Millie's last Christmas. She passed away the following summer. Our family was at the small graveside service, which was attended by just a handful of people-and a few zillion angels.

We will continue to put up our Christmas decorations each season, knowing that they are a pale imitation of the dazzling display that Millie is enjoying now.