Pflugerville’s Secret Santa: How One Mother’s Idea Turned Into a Tradition of Kindness 984
A few weeks ago, a message came from Texas that stood out for its tenderness and creativity. It wasn’t about wealth or grand gestures, but about a mother, her son, and the challenge of finding the right gift when traditional options didn’t fit.
Becci, a mother from Pflugerville, wrote about her son, Scott. Years ago, when he was just 18, Scott suffered a serious head injury in a car accident. Now he lives in a home with five other men, each facing challenges of their own. Scott shares a small space with a roommate, meaning there is little room for “things.” Clothes are covered, toiletries provided, and snacks not allowed. Every holiday, the question loomed: What gift can I give my son that truly matters?
For years, Becci gave him a box of “experiences”—tickets, outings, opportunities to do things together. But last Christmas, she wanted something different. Something that would reflect who Scott is at his core: a kind, loving man who lights up the lives of everyone around him.
So, she decided to make Scott into a Secret Santa.
Becci tucked $20 bills, cards, and supplies into a gift box and gave it to Scott with a mission: he would decide who to help and how to bless them. Each gift would carry his touch, his kindness, and his joy. It wasn’t about receiving — it was about giving.
In her message, Becci wrote: “I may not have a million dollars like your Secret Santa, but I can spread some kindness through my son. Scott is a kind, loving person who brings joy to everyone he meets. So this year, his gift is to give to others.”
Weeks later, Becci sent an update. Pflugerville’s very own Secret Santa had completed his rounds.
Scott delivered diapers and wipes to a mother struggling to provide for her baby. He created birthday cake bundles for the local food bank, honoring the memory of Robert, a friend’s grandson who adored birthdays but was tragically taken too soon. He donated toys to the local Bulldog Rescue, giving warmth and joy to animals in need.
Every step of the way, Scott beamed. From deciding whom to help, to choosing what to buy, to walking the aisles of the store — he was fully invested. Becci laughed as she recalled one trip: “If you ever have five hours to spare, take Scott shopping for baby wipes—LOL!”
What started as a mother’s creative idea has now become a family tradition. Becci wrote: “This will now be a holiday tradition for us.”
And the ripple is spreading. Inspired by Scott’s joy, Becci signed up to volunteer at the Circle of Hope food bank. Her daughter is now preparing more cake bundles, and friends have joined in as well. What began as a simple gift for Scott has blossomed into a movement of kindness stretching across their community.
There’s a truth in this story that reaches beyond one family. Too often, gifts are thought of as things to possess. But here, the gift was the act of giving itself. Scott, who once faced unimaginable loss and challenges, now stands at the center of a growing tradition of generosity — proving that kindness doesn’t require millions, just a willing heart.
Becci could have chosen the easy route: another sweater, another pair of shoes, another wrapped box that might eventually be forgotten. Instead, she chose to give her son a role, a mission, and a chance to leave his mark. In doing so, she reminded us all that the best gifts are not received but given.
Scott’s story resonates because it flips the script. He could have been seen only through the lens of his limitations, but instead, he is celebrated for his capacity to love and to give. He isn’t defined by his injury, but by the joy he spreads.
And perhaps that is the greatest gift of all: not the diapers, the toys, or the cake bundles, but the reminder that kindness multiplies. What began with Becci and Scott is now an annual event that involves family, friends, and neighbors. One small spark has become a fire of generosity.
In Pflugerville, Texas, Secret Santa isn’t a mystery millionaire. He’s a young man with a bright spirit, a mother who believes in him, and a community willing to carry his kindness forward.
And somewhere, a baby rests more comfortably, a child celebrates a birthday with joy, and a rescued dog wags its tail — all because one family chose to make love their tradition.
This holiday season, let’s remember Scott’s lesson. Gifts don’t need to be expensive. They just need to be meaningful. And sometimes, the most meaningful gifts are those we give away.
“Somebody’s Good Dream”: Honoring the Courage and Compassion of Army Nurse Judy Hartline Elbring 266
In 1967, when the Vietnam War was escalating and uncertainty hung heavy in the air, Judy Hartline Elbring made a choice that would define her life. As a young Army nurse, she volunteered not for one, but two tours in Vietnam. What awaited her was chaos, heartbreak, and moments of humanity that would shape her forever.
On the battlefields and in field hospitals, Judy faced the daily reality of shattered bodies and fragile lives. Soldiers—many of them barely older than boys—arrived with devastating wounds. Judy’s hands worked tirelessly, bandaging, treating, comforting. Yet her role was not just medical; it was deeply human. When death was inevitable, she made sure no one slipped away alone. She sat beside the dying, holding hands, whispering reassurance, ensuring that even in their last moments, they were seen, cared for, and loved.
Her courage was personal as well. Among the countless soldiers she tended to was her own brother, injured in combat. The war was not just something she witnessed—it carved itself into her family, into her heart. Still, she pressed on. When asked later how she managed the fear and relentless emotional strain, Judy explained simply: “There wasn’t time to be scared. There wasn’t time to worry about anything except the immediate job at hand.”
Yet the weight of those experiences followed her home. Like so many who served in Vietnam, Judy returned to a nation divided, where hostility and silence often greeted veterans instead of gratitude. The war’s stigma silenced stories like hers, leaving wounds that medicine could not heal. But Judy refused to let that silence define her. Over the years, she became a voice for recognition, an advocate who worked to ensure that veterans—especially the women who served—were honored for their sacrifices.
Even so, one memory haunted her more than others. She once shared:
“He stays with me. I don’t know why he stays with me, but he does. He comes back in my dreams. They’re helpless dreams in a way. They’re all the things I can’t do anything about. I would love to be somebody’s good dream. Oh God, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I’d be very proud to be somebody’s good dream.”
Those words reveal the tender heart of a woman who carried the weight of war in her subconscious, who longed not to be remembered for nightmares but for kindness. Her legacy shows she achieved just that. For the countless soldiers she comforted, for the veterans she advocated for, and for the family who knew her love, Judy Hartline Elbring was somebody’s good dream.
She passed away in 2022 at the age of 79, leaving behind a legacy of compassion, resilience, and service. Her story is not just about the war she endured but about the humanity she preserved in the face of unimaginable pain.
In remembering Judy, we remember all who served in silence, who carried burdens invisible to the world. And we affirm what Judy herself so deeply wished: that her life, her care, her courage—remain a good dream for generations to come.
