Nowlin Craver © 1988

Charles Tyne hated this part of town. He didn't like to admit prostitutes, drug addicts, and the homeless--especially the homeless--could exist in his beloved city; but to see it ... on Christmas Eve ... So he stomped the accelerator and the car sped away, almost recklessly. He concentrated on the traffic ahead, ignoring his passenger; afraid if he looked too carefully, his disgust might turn to compassion. He had cleaner garbage then her. All he could see in his mind was her clutching the brown paper bag to her chest like a baby. Charles Tyne knew what kind of baby: 75 Proof.

This was not his idea! It was his wife Della's grand plan to invite a destitute family home for Christmas so that they might not spend this most precious time of the year huddled in the streets or cramped in a shelter, but enjoy the warmth and love of a Christian home. He had argued almost an hour that morning. Rather, he ranted and raved while she cried. Then as he grew hoarse, Della proclaimed if he didn't bring some needy person home, she would do it herself. Discussion over.

"It's not that I'm selfish. I mean, I gave my entire Christmas bonus to the Salvation Army. I didn't even complain when I ate out by myself all week because Della was helping United Way prepare care packages. But for the first time since we've been married, we don't have to spend Christmas with either parents. It was going to be ‘our Christmas’; just the two of us. Christmas is for the family, isn't it? Everybody at work agreed with me." His mind continued racing with his previously futile arguments, "Besides, Della's becoming obsessed with the poor. Next thing, she'll want some indigent family to move in with us. I shouldn't have given in, but I couldn't let her go roaming the slums by herself, could I?" As the car turned into the driveway, Charles' thoughts turned to the form crouching in the far corner of the front seat: She was pale and thin with stringy brown hair, wearing a brown coat not fit for dust rags. In the hour it took to drive home, she hadn't said a word. He still was not sure why she had come with him.

He had found her clutching her paper bag as she left a pawn shop on East 6th. At first she balked at going anywhere with this well-dressed stranger, but he gruffly insisted. There was nothing sympathetic or loving in his attitude, and she was afraid; but what could he do to her that the people of the streets hadn't? So she crawled into the car saying it was worth the risk to spend one last night in a warm bed. This was the last thing Charles heard her say until they entered the Tyne house. She looked around longingly, saying she once lived in a house like this. Charles was silent. What could he say to this? The tension grew as he stood watching her covet a house he considered cramped and austere. Everything changed as Della rushed in from the kitchen. While no one other than Charles would consider Della beautiful, she radiated warmth and caring. All the tension and fear were engulfed by Della's love and compassion. Della immediately learned her guest's name was Susan Harper and took her to change clothes. By the time they sat down for supper, they were chatting like sisters.

Charles did not enjoy dinner. Della's delicious pork chops were rendered tasteless by Susan's incessant whining over ill fate: Once she had been happily married. Then the day her second daughter was born, her husband started divorce proceedings. She could not find a job where she could earn enough to pay for child care, and her husband was a year behind in child support. Then when she was evicted from her apartment, her husband won custody of her children because she was unable to care for them properly. Now she was alone, living on the streets, assaulted again and again. She had failed her children. She had failed her husband. She felt so worthless.

It was all very touching, but she never mentioned the role alcohol played in all this, Charles noted as he observed the paper sack held firmly in her lap all during dinner.

After dinner Charles tried to retreat to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Della insisted they could wait until after they read the Christmas story. It was a nightly tradition to read passages from the Bible which lay on the coffee table, but tonight was special. They read not only of Jesus Christ's glorious birth in the manger where he was showered with gifts and hailed as king, but then proceeded with the rest of his life as he was rejected by his own people for not fulfilling their idea of a savior; crucified on the cross, bearing the sins of mankind; and then resurrected from the grave conquering sin and death. They culminated with the promise of the power of the Holy Spirit and Christ's ascension into heaven.

Although it lasted hours, Susan was engrossed in the story. Never had she truly heard or understood the significance of Jesus’ birth. They talked and wept long after the Bible was returned to its place of honor. Even Charles was drawn into the spirit of togetherness. Both Charles and Della shared how Christ had changed their lives not as a philosophy, but as a spiritual birth, a living presence inside them.

This might have continued all night, but Della had to start cooking the turkey at 6:00 the next morning. So Della gave her best nightgown to Susan, showed her to the guest room, and kissed her goodnight.

Della went to bed, snuggling up to Charles, "What a poor dear to have such a life. I hope she's all right; she still looks so troubled. Something in her eyes scares me."

"Don't worry; she'll be fine. I just hope the silverware is still here in the morning," and with that Charles turned over and went to sleep. While Della prayed.

Della was up at 6:00 but did not rouse Charles until 8:00. When Della went to wake Susan, Susan was gone. Charles immediately searched the house to see what was missing. Della called Charles to the coffee table: Susan had taken the Bible and left her paper sack in its place. Charles started to lift the sack, but its contents fell onto the table. Stunned, Della and Charles just stood looking at the gun that lay on their table.

Charles interrupted the silence, almost hysterical," Do you realize what could have happened?"

"Yes, praise God, I do," Della said, wiping back the tears.

Charles answered his own question," She could have shot us dead in our sleep."

"Charles," she put her arm around him, "I don’t think we were who she planned to kill."

"If she wasn't going to kill us, then who--"

Suddenly it hit him: She said she wanted to spend her last night in a warm bed. He realized for the first time how selfish he had been, so consumed by self-pity he could not see the misery and desperation of that poor soul. How could he speak so glibly of the love and grace of Christ and yet have so little compassion for the suffering right in front of him?

And yet she had been saved. In spite of himself, God used their home to light a spark in her soul so that she chose God over death. Still staring at the gun, Charles wept as he had when he first gave his life to Christ. Finally, he picked up the gun, put on his overcoat, and started out the door. With more than a little concern in her voice, Della asked where he was going.

"First," he said, "I'm going to dispose of this gun. Then I'm going to find Susan and bring her back. And if I can't find her, there's always someone else who needs our compassion."