Twenty-five years ago, God blessed us with Kayla. It has been longstanding tradition to drive around on her birthday, after dinner and look at Christmas lights. Our daughters remain the light of my heart and I thank God every day for that early Christmas present in 1991. In honor of her birthday, I share the following true story:
The abandoned storefront from a bygone
era stood long forgotten on the deserted street amid a flourishing city. Once a
thriving enterprise and founder of a retired business district, the city leased
it to an Outreach Ministry until such time as the “improvement’s committee”
deemed it necessary to reclaim.
Clothed in drab, things were not much
brighter on the inside. It served as warmth and shelter to homeless as well as
kitchen and bathroom to others who merely wanted a warm meal and a place to
rest awhile.
Although I had often prayed for, read
about and contributed to such charities, this was my first visit to an outreach
center. I hoped the smile plastered on my face hid my fear and discomfort.
Initially excited, my husband, daughters
and I had driven an hour to deliver necessities and “treasures.” A month long
collection effort filled a large moving trailer and the Director excitedly
welcomed our offer. “I had been praying where our turkeys would come from this
year,” she said.
However, my enthusiasm quickly waned when a
certain gentleman failed to respond. He not only failed to return my smile but
his eyes seemed to mirror the dim walls. At the time, I could not fathom the
life this old soul had endured which left his whole being deflated. Silently, I prayed that he would feel God’s
loving embrace.
Shortly after our arrival, a local youth
group showed up bearing hot pizza and festivities. Someone had sent an
artificial tree and they were going to entertain the children with making
ornaments. Even the merriment which ensued failed to faze the old man as did
the “miracle of the cinder block”. The Youth minister and my husband scouted
the back lot for something to brace the tree which was missing a stand. “I
prayed that the Lord please help us find something to hold this tree up,” said
the youngster. Just then, they tripped over two cinderblocks which had not been
there the first two times they circled the yard. Much laughter and praise
erupted but still the old man sat staring at nothing in particular.
Then a hush settled in the darkness as
someone turned off the lights. Watching from my “safe” vantage point, I looked
towards the front of the building. There in the quiet stillness, stood a
breathtaking vision. In the bay window which was the only window, glowed that
lilting castoff plastic pine in glorious splendor. I was truly overwhelmed by
the sheer beauty! A little joy and love and prayer had transformed an
unanchored decrepit tree into a shining steeple of hope. Gazing about the room,
my tear filled eyes rested upon that stoic gentleman. He smiled and all the
years which had hung heavily upon him and oppressed every part of his features
now seemed softened and refreshed like a child as the tree cast a warm glow back
upon him. Its lights reflected in the deep pools of his eyes.
Now, whenever I ponder the Spirit of
Christmas, I remember that night and that tree and that gentleman who finally
smiled.
“Be still and know that I am God.”
-Psalms 46:10