One Christmas

Purging files the other day, I ran across a four paged double spaced TYPED (on erasable paper, yeah remember those days) narrative essay with "A" written in red pen on the front.

It was dated February 25, 1985....wow!

The comment written on the front by my college professor was, "a good narrative - some language too flowery". Just reading the first page I thought boy, did someone use a thesaurus on this paper?

Anyway, here it is:

Titled - One Christmas

The aroma of roasting ham permeated the tranquil atmosphere, intermingling, as it did with the aura of fresh pine being released by the newly decored greenery standing alone in one corner of the room.

Each limb strived to its potential to touch the ceiling, as the soft colorful lights that adorned them blinked intermittently.

A flickering flame from the crackling logs, furnished a solitary glow that competed against the overwhelming blackness as it sihouetted an oak table in the far corner.

Warmth emanated from the frolicking flames as they branched out in vain for anything within reach.

Shadows in the room were brought to life and danced on the fine china, crystal, and silver that blanketed the dark surface of the table. A soft concerto released a soothing effect as it meandered through the atmosphere.

This stillness was soon interrupted when three small bodies bounced into the room, soon followed by a taller figure burdened with wrapped packages and boxes. Laughter filtered through the room as the packages were ripped open.

The succulent ham soon fell victim to a sharp knife edge. As it was carved, every slice released hot juices which ran down the length of the blade. The table on which it sat, was choking as more provisions were added, one by one, much more than what could be consumed in one sitting.

Hot biscuits laced with melting butter took their place at one end of the table, as they did, one was unintentionally knocked to the floor; later to be tossed thoughtlessly to a waiting garbage can.

Outside, the snow was falling lightly as a gentle breeze tossed the flakes about playfully. The crispness of the air was hardly breathable and it decorated windows by brushing crystals across the surface of glass.

Icicles slowly made their way down from the eaves of rooftops and hung in silent rows, each one trying to out distance the other. A dog barked in the distance, the sound barely audible as it lingered on the frozen air.

A frail figure shuddered silently on a nearby street corner, the light breeze biting fiercly into this small frail frame. The figure stared longingly at the glow radiating from a neighboring house as a pang of hunger shot through his stomach. It went unnoticed as it had before. Such pains were common, and now ignored.

He glanced down into a tiny tin cup held between his frozen hands. He realized he had done a lot better today although a beggar's life was not easy.

After counting the change he had acquired, he carefully emptied it into a jacket pocket. This, he thought, would be enough to buy him some bread in the morning.

He then slipped the small tin cup into another pocket.

He crossed the icy surface of the road, slowly, carefully; selectively placing his cane with every step. The "cane" which he used was an old branch which had fallen from an old pine years ago, but it served it's purpose well.

The figure slowly entered the gates on the opposite side of the street.

What other people called a park, he called home.

He made his way toward his favorite resting place. Although there was no protection from the harsh elements around him, these surroundings provided a sense of security for him and, although he had lived in this place for several years, he couldn't remember a time when it had been so cold.

As he sat down gently, he let his mind wander so as not to focus on the cold surrounding him.

He was thinking about his childhood, what a sense of contentment there was then.

An unexpected drowsiness was taking over his body and he fought against it in vain. Slowly he lowered his head on the icy park bench. Blackness soon clouded his vision, a prisoner of the elements, he lay there motionless.

What seemed like minutes later, two gloved hands were violently shaking this half frozen figure on the park bench.

Slowly the form seemed to regain consciousness, and as it did, looked upward at the giant figure who had obviously saved him from experiencing death. He tried to smile but his face was numb. The frail man slowly sat upright and looked downward at the snow. Many footsteps had passed by his bench while he lay there as was clearly evident in the fresh snow, but no one had stopped before this stranger.

He looked upward at this giant figure again. A thick wool scarf concealed this stranger's face but it was soon removed and wrapped tightly around the old man's. Soon he felt himself being half-carried, half-dragged down the street.

The laughter in the house was cut short as the door flung open and the two figures stood in the doorway. One looked weathered, frail, and as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. The other was easily recognizable as both were greeted warmly.

The latter was soon smothered in hugs and kisses as petite bodies crawled over him like ants on an anthill.

The fire in the fireplace was stoked, the flames coming back to life, licking out in every direction and releasing warmth unselfishly.

The old man was soon freed of his jacket and escorted toward the massive oak dining table. As he was guided into a chair, he was accompanied by everyone as they took their places around the table.

As the plates were filled, a message of thanks was surrendered. The old man felt a welling of tears in his eyes. This was the best Christmas he had shared in years and he, was sincerely grateful.

The End

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.
"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you , or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stanger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
The King will reply, ' I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Matthew 25:35-40
Take care and God bless.