The Meaning Of Christmas
by Douglas M. Bryce

He raised the collar of his ragged jacket and turned his face to the wind as it blew stronger from the North. The streets were cold and empty and the city slept as he traced his footsteps back through the snow towards home. His worn shoes were filled with newspaper stuffing to keep the cold to a minimum. His hands were going numb from exposure to the bitter cold and wind. He longed for the comfort of his home.

Why must it be this way? When had it happened?

His thoughts turned to the past as he tried to remember. He trembled as he felt the wind penetrate the thin material he called a coat. He trembled more as the memories returned.

It was 20 years ago. Christmas eve. He was 10 years old and at a party with other kids, all from the orphanage where he lived. An anonymous donor had paid a lot of money so they could have fun on this special holiday evening. Everyone else was happily opening boxes and throwing gift-wrap around as they discovered the delights hidden in the packages addressed to them. But there was nothing with his name on it. No box. No package. Nothing. Someone had forgotten to get him a gift.

He stood in the darkness of a far corner and watched, tears rising in his eyes. This was the first year he had ever been asked to come to a Christmas party. He was told that this was what Christmas was all about: Opening gifts and having fun. In his 10 short years he had never experienced the joy of Christmas. Now here it was in all its glory. He had no gift. And he was crying.

The fierce wind blew him back to the present. He bundled the worn out fragment of jacket around his shoulders and trudged on against the chill and blowing snow. The alley came up on his right and he almost passed without seeing it. Imagine! He almost passed it. He turned into the alley and plodded towards the large cardboard box he called home.

As he entered the carton he found a small child, a boy, trembling as he tried to sleep. A lost child, perhaps. Or a runaway. He looked so young. Couldn't be more than 10. And he was dressed only in rags. An old worn shirt, ragged pants with more holes than cloth. And shoes that had no soles.

The man removed his jacket and placed it around the shoulders of the trembling child. He pulled off his own shoes and placed them on the child's feet. Then he slowly tugged the child towards him and cuddled him in his arms. The boy stopped trembling, began to breath evenly, and slipped into peaceful sleep.

The man stayed perfectly still. He held the child. He finally knew the true meaning of the season. This was what Christmas was all about. He knew he had finally received his gift.
 

copyright 2002 DBryce

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