She slammed the book
down on the table
And let out a long huff.
Her patience couldn’t
take much more,
This night has been so rough.
Maybe if she stayed
real still,
And didn’t make a noise;
Then that crowd would
go away
With
all those girls and boys.
But their incessant
singing continued on,
Along
with their off-key tune.
All she could do was
wait it out,
And
hope it would end soon.
Silent Night and
Jingle Bells
Seeped
through every wall.
That joyous music
filled the air,
Filling
every room and hall.
She closed her eyes
and gave a sigh,
It
had gone on for quite a while.
So she went to open
up the door,
Pasting
on her “Christian” smile.
She nodded at each caroler,
Keeping
every thought inside.
She longed to scream “Just
Go Away!”
But
she still had her pride.
Finally they went to
leave
And
she mumbled a reply.
But as she turned to
go back in,
Something
caught her eye.
A single light across
the street
Glowed
faintly in the night.
Illuminating a simple
scene,
Where
all was ‘calm and bright.’
The woman sneered at
the little thing,
Parked
on the church’s lawn.
She couldn’t wait ‘till
this was over
And
that stupid thing got gone.
She eyed that cutout
up and down-
Made
from inexpensive wood.
A man, a woman, and a
baby;
Not
even very good!
She pulled her
sweater tighter ‘round
To
fend off the bitter chill.
How could such a
bustling town,
Become
suddenly so still?
She allowed a
backward glance,
Contempt
written on her face.
And to think that she
had once been
A
huge part of that place?!
As she went to go
back in the house,
Where
her cup of tea grew cold.
She noticed something
in the snow,
An
unusual type fold.
She went to shrug it
off,
It
held no real value.
But just like the
cold gets in your bones,
Curiosity
will too.
So she made her way
down off her porch
And
stepped up to the lane.
She checked to make
sure the coast was clear,
Looking
left and right again.
Then trudging up the
church’s lawn,
Wading
through the snow.
She stood next to the
manger scene,
Eyes
blinded from the glow.
There sat a little
cardboard box-
Just
lying on the ground.
It was perched right
by the manger,
As
if waiting to be found.
It had a little
ribbon tied,
Made
from a piece of string.
And on the top a tag was
written-
“To
Jesus, Baby King.”
She yearned to walk
away.
She
liked no parts of this
But something told
her that this was
A
moment not to miss.
So with hands ever
careful,
She
removed the handmade bow.
And gently lifted
each soggy flap
To
learn what was to know.
On top was laid a
written note,
Done
from a child’s hand.
She unfolded the
paper.
She
just had to understand.
“Baby Jesus, You came as a king,
But
I’m just a little girl.
I’m not tall, and I’m not pretty,
And
I only have one curl.
But Jesus, I have a heart;
And
I hear you like that, too.
So in this box are the things I love.
I
give them all to You.
I’ve packed some hopes. I’ve packed some dreams.
So
now I guess I’ll say.
That I’m giving you my everything
As
a gift on Your birthday!”
The woman now, with
knees gone weak,
Knelt
in that drifted bank.
Her mind spun with
what could be,
But
it only came up blank.
She laid the little
note aside,
Eyes
filling up with tears.
As innocent as this
child was,
She
was mature beyond her years.
She found a pair of
ballet slippers,
With
a hole worn in the toe.
The little girl must’ve
practiced hard,
For
such a mark to show.
The woman touched the
scuffed fabric,
Holding
back the coming stream;
For long ago, she too
had fought
For
a similar type dream.
But she pushed that
thought aside,
Her
resentment coming new.
She couldn’t forget
what had happened,
Or
Who allowed it to.
With a fresh frown on
her face,
She
continued through that box.
She couldn’t have
been more surprised
When
she pulled out that pair of socks!
Just a simple
blue-grey yarn,
In
an old-fashioned circle knit.
But what surprised
her most of all
Was
the note attached to it.
The yellowed piece of
paper read-
“From
Grandma, with love.”
It was placed inside
the sock
Like
a hand inside a glove.
Moisture threatened
in the woman’s eyes.
This
girl had been loved well.
Then why go to all
this trouble?
She
really couldn’t tell.
Why ever would a
little girl
Give
all her things away?
And leave them in the
snow bank,
For
a baby on some hay?
The woman, she had
been there,
She
had filled that empty pew.
But giving her all to
a far off god
Was not something she would do.
No. She preferred the
hatred
To
the love that could be there.
She like to have
someone to blame
For
every woe and care.
The cold wind brought
her mind right back
To
the monumental task.
Of trying to question
a little girl
Without
a time to ask.
Her eyes went to the
box again
And
her hand went to her chest.
A tiny, well-loved,
dolly
Was
laid gently with the rest.
With a handmade dress
and button eyes,
This
treasure wasn’t new.
It seams could talk,
they’d have some tales
Of
all she had been through.
A little girl, gave
up her doll?
Her most precious earthly prize!
The woman couldn’t
hold them back
And
hot tears came to her eyes.
What was it about
this manger
That
made people act so strange?
Why was it that this
time of year
Made
people want to change?
This season was no
spotless lamb.
It
had its soiled roots.
And this change could
not have come from
A
fat man in red suits.
The woman sat there
smiling;
She
had answered her own plight.
This had to be some
crazy hoax
To
bring on a “Silent Night.”
But as she sat there,
wet with snow,
And
that box perched on her knee.
She knew, deep down,
there was something more.
There
almost had to be.
But she’d been to
church, sang the songs.
It
wasn’t all that great.
It wasn’t magic; and
besides,
She’d
already picked her fate.
She’d picked her fate
that day
When
at God she shook her fist.
When the hurt and
pain had been so bad
She
just could not resist.
When God, with
judgments so unfair,
Asked
her to give her all
She looked right up
and told Him-
“My
life is not Your call!”
And that girl, still
so young,
Might
not get this yet;
But someday soon she
would feel
Just
how bad the pain could get.
And that little girl,
when the time did come,
Would
know that she could not.
Call out to the very
God,
Who
of her whole pain forgot.
She sat there feeling
justified,
Although
her life a total wreck.
The wind whipped hard
again,
And
a chill ran up her neck.
She went to put that
box away.
She
was quite done for the night.
When she saw that
there was one more piece
Reflecting
off the light.
It was a simple
photograph-
A
proud fam’ly of three.
Attached was a piece
of paper
That
read “Obituary.”
The paper and the
picture
Coincided
all too much.
The woman couldn’t
help it,
She
reached out her hand to touch.
And when she did she
saw the words
Handwritten
on the page.
They seemed to match
the little note,
Mature
beyond its age.
Just a single line of
words-
It
couldn’t be that bad;
But the sloppy,
homemade letters read-
“Take
care of mom and dad.”
This time tears
poured freely.
The
woman felt like she’d been hit.
Her mind reeled and
spun
With
the pure weight of all of it.
This little girl had
lost so much
And
gave up even more.
The woman couldn’t
fathom
The
“why?” or “what for?”
A truck came down the
roadway
And
its headlights cast a glow.
She found herself
sitting
In
an oddly shaped shadow.
When she looked above
the manger scene,
Her
mind was at a loss.
Right behind where
the baby lay,
There
stood a wooden cross.
The woman couldn’t
help but see
That
baby hanging there.
Her mouth hung wide
and open,
But
she really didn’t care.
For the first time in
her entire life
The
truth filled her eyes-
That God incarnate
came to earth,
Leaving
paradise.
Yes, He came
fulfilling prophecy.
Yes,
He came without a bed.
But It wasn’t about
the night He came,
But
the day He died instead.
He didn’t come with
sword drawn
Ready
to slay every vice.
He came instead to
take your place-
A
perfect sacrifice.
The woman sat there,
in the snow,
Her
heart now torn in two.
Tears were falling
and she couldn’t
Quite
figure what to do.
A cardboard box and a
little girl-
One
she’d never even met!
Had rocked her world
with such a force-
That
it hadn’t settled yet.
And now she sat,
soaked to the bone,
Half
frozen in place.
At the crossroads of
her old life,
And
a new, amazing grace.
She took her stand
from the frozen ground,
That
drifted bank of snow.
That choice she had,
which did she make?
Well,
I guess we’ll never know.
