D.L.

 

We all love a good story. It has the capacity to spark our imagination and to give us motivation and courage.

Christmas is the story that has endured the test of time, and although it has been challenged, its power still resonates with us.

A young couple, a pregnant teenage girl about to give birth and a young husband who is thrown into the play as the one who provides security, comfort and guidance. Then, there is the boy to be born, the son of the promise.

We, the audience, from every corner of the world, have retold the story as it was yesterday for centuries. We play it in churches and schools, and in most places in this world, we take time off. We take time to be with our families and friends, as if, for a few days, the importance of those we love and are close to us becomes the centre of our attention.

Christmas is a family event; it started with a young family, and we have kept the tradition alive.

But what about those who have no one? What about those who live on our streets? Are they family too?

A few days ago, my youngest daughter and her friend went to Belfast city centre. They were shopping, getting something to eat, and enjoying one another’s company.

Then a young woman stopped them. She was living on the streets, and maybe she still is. I do not know her name, but she was bold or forced to beg and asked my daughter for money; she was hungry.

You and I know the story; you and I have been asked the same question from another human being who has lived on the streets, and it is possible that you and I have been generous. Sometimes our generosity is challenged by the knowledge that, by giving money, you don’t know whether you are helping feed an addiction.

Being hungry, being addicted and living on the street is wrong.

The two girls did not know what to do with such an interruption; their plans were somehow altered. They mumbled a “sorry”, and they walked away, only for every step they took was as if someone’s voice in their hearts was shouting, “Get her something to eat!”

I don’t know what was more audible, the young woman begging or the internal voice, the strong conviction of doing something.

The two girls walked into a well-known sandwich place and bought, with the money they had set aside for presents, a meal for this young girl. They went back and gave it to her, expecting nothing in return. The young woman, a little older than my own daughter, was touched and thankful. But she had another request.
She asked the two girls; this time, it was not about money. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

Her need for food was evident, but her need for affection was even greater.

The girls did not think twice, and both embraced this young woman, as if she were a dear friend, a sister, someone who was part of the family. For those few seconds, a meal was offered and accepted, and the warmth of belonging was kindly given.

As they said goodbye and walked away, my daughter and her friend burst into tears; they did not care if people saw them crying, they kept going.

That day, a seed was planted and watered by the tears of strangers.

That was the day that Christmas changed.

May you have a blessed Christmas.