Amid the holiday hustle and bustle, I found myself caught in a sea of traffic while trying to enter the local Target. The familiar sounds of honking horns and impatient drivers filled the air, so I turned on the radio and took a sip of my favorite chestnut praline latte. My friend Lisa sighed, sharing in the frustration.
“Look over there,” she said, pointing towards the Extended Stay motel. “Something’s going on.”
What I saw sent a shiver down my spine—police cars lined up, their lights flashing in a chaotic dance.
“That doesn’t look good,” I whispered, as the light turned green but our car remained still.
In our peaceful neighborhood, we’re not accustomed to such scenes. The police usually respond to every little incident, making it hard to discern whether this was a serious situation or just a minor disturbance.
Then I spotted him—a strong man standing at the center of the commotion, holding a beautiful, wide-eyed little girl in his arms. In his other hand, he clutched a trash bag stuffed with clothing.
“Oh no,” I murmured, feeling my heart sink.
Having previously managed subsidized housing, I am all too familiar with the heart-wrenching reality of evictions. I’ve witnessed families forced out onto the street, their desperation palpable in the air. But this scene struck a particular chord within me.
The father stood there, devoid of tears or anger. He didn’t yell or plead; he simply accepted his fate with a blank stare that conveyed a profound sense of defeat. Meanwhile, his daughter nestled her head into his chest, as if seeking comfort amidst the chaos.
Daddy will make everything alright. Daddy always makes everything alright, I thought.
As we finally drove away, I tried to refocus on my holiday errands: shopping, decorating, and mailing cards. But the image of that father and daughter lingered heavily on my heart. I couldn’t help but wonder how isolating it must feel to face such despair while the rest of us buzzed around, wrapped up in our festive routines. How much more painful must it be during a season meant for joy?
I grappled with my desire to forget the scene, to erase the memory of that father cradling his daughter as police discussed their fate. It felt too heavy to carry during the holidays—a stark contrast to the cheerful jingles and seasonal treats.
What does Christmas truly represent? Is it merely a time for gifts, laughter, and celebration? Or is it a reminder of compassion and kindness?
I realized the heaviness in my chest stemmed from a deeper truth: I had been reminded of another family in need—the kind of family that suffers in silence, especially during the cold winter nights. The stark contrast between their reality and my own holiday cheer felt unbearable. I felt a profound shame, as if a “No Vacancy” sign was flashing inside me, indicating that I had no space for those in need.
Despite my best intentions, I had not reached out. I searched for resources to help, but often, the homeless are elusive. It’s been nearly a week since that day, and I find myself praying for that family each night. While I may never have the chance to rectify my inaction, I am determined to transform my heart moving forward.
This Christmas, I intend to embrace the spirit of giving, not just through laughter and gifts, but by genuinely opening my heart—and yes, my wallet—to those around me who are struggling. I hope to recognize opportunities to lend a helping hand in the future, refusing to let fear or pride hold me back.
Most importantly, I pray that the “No Vacancy” sign in my heart is unplugged for good. If there is no room for those in need, I become just like the innkeeper who turned away Mary and Joseph, and that’s not the story I want to be part of.
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In summary, this holiday season, let’s commit to opening our hearts to those who are less fortunate. Let’s embrace the true spirit of Christmas by extending kindness and compassion to those in need.
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