A Christmas Story

This is a Christmas Story.  Not the Biblical one, not the one with the adorable, bespectacled boy who pines for a Red Ryder BB gun.  Still, it’s a Christmas story, but a different one.

In a town near where I grew up, a girl was given shelter.  But that’s about it.  She went hungry under that roof, having to beg the neighbors and her classmates for food.  She stole a pair of shoes and was caught doing it.  Her explanation for her actions was “Because I don’t have any.”  She carried a foul, unclean odor with her.  Surely she suffered emotionally.

Then she died.

And her parents have been arrested.

It’s sickening.  It’s tragic.  It’s abhorrent.  Why a parent would deny their child the very basics of living, or stand by while another did, is, to say the least, a monstrous act most of us could not even conceive.  We call for justice, as well we should, but unfortunately, there is no true justice for the 16-year-old who was underfed, underclothed and unloved.

A candlelight vigil was held outside her home.  Interviews were taken.  It was touching to hear young people take this shattering news and make it their own.  They voiced their epiphanies of gratitude for what they have and their vows to do more to help those not just in need, but to those who cry for help.  At Christmastime, this hits home especially hard.

The red buckets swing to the tune of bells, the food pantries drive.  Both are ubiquitous signs of holiday giving to those in need.  But other signs of such are less familiar and catch us by surprise.  It’s hard to respond fully when caught unaware.  But this story reminds us to always be watchful not just at Christmas, but all year long.  To give of ourselves not just during the holiday season, but in the depths of winter, the hope of spring, the bounty of summer and the gloriousness of fall.

May this young lady finally rest in peace and her siblings find new hope in a new home.