The answer to my prayer stood on
my porch and I closed the door on her. I kindly smiled and said, “Thanks but no
thanks,” and shut the door.
It was the night before Christmas
Eve and energy zipped through the house like an electrical current looking for
an outlet. Like pulling untethered helium balloons from the ceiling at the same
time, I gathered my family at the kitchen table for dinner. After the meal, with
persuasion from their father, the children helped clean up dinner, making the
kitchen feel like a bustling metropolitan of helpful elves. And they were happy
to do it. They knew that for each service they performed, we would add a link
on our paper service chain. The colorful chain now stretched across the kitchen
and almost touched the Christmas tree in the adjoining room.
I rested on the couch, reading to
my one-year-old, and admired that service chain. The children’s faces beamed
with happiness during the past few weeks every time we added to the chain. I
felt happy as well, knowing that this was my focus for this year’s holiday
season, Service. I had been praying all month long for ways to serve those
around us. Some days the opportunities naturally presented themselves and other
times we had to work a little harder and search out ways to serve.
When the kitchen was clean, the
family gathered around the Christmas tree to hear the traditional, nightly
Christmas story. We turned the lights off, the room still warm and glowing with
the lights of the tree and the reflection off shiny ornaments. Sterling started
the story, lying on the carpet with a pillow under his head. Slowly, each of
the children made their way to the floor next to him, nestling into his
shoulder or laying their head on his stomach.
I caught my breath, wondering at
the comfort and blessings we enjoy in our family, most of which were stolen
moments like this when we were all together and getting along. In my heart I
repeated the same prayer I’d been offering all season long. “Lord, please help me extend my blessings to
those around me. Help me find ways for my family to serve.” Half way
through the story, there was a knock at the door. I motioned for Sterling to keep reading.
I shuddered at the cold air as I
pulled the door open. Standing in the yellow porch light was a woman whom I
immediately determined to be about my age. She wore a colorful knit hat, made
of soft yarn and nondescript coat buttoned to the collar. A warm scarf was
wrapped around her neck. In her gloved hands she held a cookie sheet full of
plates of cookies and wrapped breads. For a simple cookie sheet, the offering was
varied and well presented. The breads were full and moist, the cookies
perfectly browned, topped with various chocolate treats.
I quickly scanned the tray and
looked back at the woman. Her cheeks and nose were rosy pink with the cold, her
eyes hopeful. Curls of brown hair escaped her hat and framed her face. “I wonder if she’s a mother?” I thought.
I looked at the plate again, knowing that our counters were already filled with
treats from neighbors and co-workers. We really had no need or room for what
she was offering, so I looked into her eyes and kindly said, “Thank you but we
really don’t need anything tonight.” She responded with a cheerful but subdued,
“Merry Christmas,” and left. I quickly closed the door on the cold air that had
seeped into the house and returned to my family.
I sat on the couch and went over what
had just happened. It didn’t feel right. “Who
was that woman?” I thought. “Why was
she selling her goods door to door so late at night? Where was her family? Her
children? Maybe she really needed help. Couldn’t I have purchased something?
Actually, why didn’t I invite her in? She could have warmed up, had a cup of
hot chocolate. I could have purchased her whole tray and sent her home to be
with her family!” The thoughts piled on and on like a rolling avalanche until
I couldn’t stand it. And then the realization came. THAT was the answer to my
prayer. She was the answer. She was standing on my porch and I turned her away.
Without a word or even a glance
at Sterling, I grabbed my jacket and raced out the door. I had to find the
woman with the tray of cookies and bread. She had to be somewhere. When I saw
that she wasn’t on my street, I started to run. It was cold and dark, lit only
by the sparse streetlamps. I came to opening of my cul-de-sac and looked both
ways. I pled to God, “Please let me know
where to go!” I turned left and started walking at a brisk pace. I scanned
each door step for her shadow, getting more discouraged with each empty street.
All the things I wished I would have done or said raced through my mind. I couldn’t
bear the thought of not being able to make this up to her and to God.
Rounding a corner, I saw the tail
lights of a truck ahead and hope rushed through me. Maybe she was getting a
ride to the next cul-de-sac. The truck was several homes ahead of me when I
started running. My sprint ended too quickly when the truck turned onto an
empty street leading out of the neighborhood. I stopped to catch my breath and
watched the tail lights fade until I was sure the truck would not be stopping
again.
I looked around me at the
brightly lit houses. Christmas lights sparkled, outlining the eaves of houses
and trees glittered in the windows. Inside, families were together, warm and
comfortable. It was a stark contrast to how I felt inside, hollow and empty. My
mind settled as I walked the silent streets back home. The weight of my missed
opportunity hung heavy on my shoulders and swirled around me with the mist of
my cold breath. With each step, the reality of my identity became clearer.
Tonight, I was the innkeeper. Tonight, I said, No.
I considered the innkeeper as I
never had before. Why did he say no? Did he regret it like I did? Had he run
after the couple like I had? If I had been in Bethlehem that night, would I
have seen the innkeeper wandering the streets, looking for the couple he had
turned away, full of remorse, hoping for contrition? I hope he found them and
that it was he that led them back to a warm stable and piled warm sweet hay in
the manger.
By the time I returned home, I
was humbled and acutely aware of what had transpired that evening. I knew
without doubt that I had been tested and the lesson had been hard learned. But
my heart was warm in my chest as I considered that God loved me enough to send
the woman to my door in the beginning. He knew me and loved me enough to allow
me this journey of dark steps into higher understanding. I may be the innkeeper
again and God’s grace allows for that inevitable occurrence in each of our
lives. The birth of baby Jesus is part of the miracle of the living Christ. It
it His love and grace that makes my offering, though meager and flawed,
sufficient.
