It has become somewhat of a tradition over the years that I have been penning this weekly missive that in the weeks prior to Christmas I share yuletide stories with you in hopes that, like a slow and steady breath, it will stoke the glowing coals of our respective seasonal awareness into a flaming crescendo of Christmas spirit. This year, I open with a short story authored by Chase Walker.
There is something about a holiday that turns normally silent people – total strangers – into secret-confiding friends. Such was the case one Christmas Eve not so long ago aboard a speeding Midwestern train. The electric spirit of the season seemed to fill each car. In one seat, a little girl, sporting a big yellow bow in her hair, asked anxiously, “How much longer to Grandma’s?”
A few seats away, a sailor proudly held out a wallet-sized photograph of his sweetheart, showing it to others around him.
Everyone seemed to be talking and laughing. Everyone except one young man and his seat companion, a kindly looking gentleman with gray-white hair. The man had vainly attempted to start a conversation, but the boy was pre-occupied. He never looked away from the window.
Finally, the man gave up and went back to reading his book – until he realized the young man was crying, a muffled quiet crying, but unmistakably crying.
“Need a handkerchief?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy. “Thank you.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Is there anything I can do, Son?”
“No, I’m afraid not. It’s too late …” The boy put the handkerchief to his face again.
Placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, the man consoled him, “Sometimes we only think it’s too late. Why don’t you tell me the problem. Let me decide.”
“Well…” the boy hesitated, then began:
“It was four months ago … well, almost four months. You see, I ran away from home. I just couldn’t take it anymore … my school work was horrible … and I was sick to death of doing chores morning and night. Well, I told Dad and we had a terrible argument. That night I packed some clothes and headed for the city. I had a little money saved and figured I could get a job. In less than a week I realized I made a mistake. I was tempted to tell Mom and Dad that I wanted to come home when I wrote them not to worry, but I was too embarrassed. Many nights I slept in the streets, hungry more often than not.”
The boy blew his nose and dabbed his eyes again. “Finally, last week I broke down and wrote Dad that I wanted to come home, though I knew he might not want me back. I told him I’d be on this train, and that if I was welcome he should tie a red cloth on the big elm on the back of the farm. The train runs right past our farm and that old tree drapes over the fence.”
“Well, I think you’ll be welcome, Son,” the old man assured him. Picking up the book which had lain in his lap, the man leafed through it. “You probably think your story is unique, but in this book, this Bible, there is a story much like yours. It’s the story of the Prodigal Son. Do you know it?”
The boy shook his head no.
“Then I want to read it to you.” And the old man read that familiar story. When he had finished, the boy’s face wore a smile.
“I believe most fathers are filled with the same forgiving spirit as in this story,” the man said, “and I believe your father will be more than willing to have you back.”
The boy suddenly sat upright. “We’re almost there,” he said. “Our place is right after the next bend. Oh, I’m too afraid to look!”
“Then I’ll look for you,” volunteered the kindly old man.
The telephone poles raced by. For a moment the old man’s faith wavered. What if there is no signal in the elm tree?
Just then the train swung around the bend and up ahead he saw the huge elm dancing in the wind, its branches bare against the steel-gray sky and snowy fields. Bare – except for dozens of red banners that flapped from every conceivable limb. They shouted the news to a runaway boy that all was forgiven at Christmas.
“I truly believe that if we keep telling the Christmas story, singing the Christmas songs, and living the Christmas spirit, we can bring joy and happiness and peace to this world.” – Norman Vincent Peale
Have an AWE-full Weekend!
William J. “Bill” Bacqué