New York City, is impressive at any time, but as Christmas approaches, it's overwhelming. Store windows blaze with light and color, furs and jewels. Golden angels, 40 feet tall, over Fifth Avenue. Wealth, power, opulence - nothing in the world can match this fabulous display.
Through gleaming canyons, people hurry to find last-minute gifts. Money seems to be no problem. If there's a problem, its' that the recipients so often have EVERYTHING they need or want and it's hard to find something suitable, anything that really says, "I love you!"
Last December, as Christ's birth drew near, a stranger was faced with just that problem. She had come from Switzerland to live in an American home and perfect her English. In return, she was willing to act as secretary, mind the grandchildren, do anything she was asked. She was just a girl in her late teens. Her name was Ursula.
One of the tasks of her employers gave Ursula was keeping track of Christmas presents as they arrived. There were many, and they would all require acknowledgement. Ursula kept a faithful record, but with growing concern. She was grateful to her American friends; she wanted to show her gratitude by giving them Christmas present. But nothing she could buy with her small allowance could compare with the gifts she was recording daily. Besides, even without these gifts, it seemed as if her employers had everything.
At night, from her window, Ursula could see the snowy expanse of Central Park, and beyond it the jagged skyline of the city. Far below, in the restless streets, taxis hooted and traffic lights winked red and green. It was so different from the silent majesty of the Alps, that at times she had to blink back tears of homesickness she was careful to never show.
It was in the solitude of her room, as few days before Christmas, that a secret idea came to her.
It was almost as if a voice spoke clearly to her. "It's true that many people in this city have so much more than you, but surely there are many who have far less. If you think about this, you will find a solution to what is troubling you."
Ursula thought long and hard.
On her day off, which was Christmas Eve, she went to a great department store. She moved slowly along the crowded isles, selecting and rejecting things in her mind.
At last, she bought something, and had it wrapped in gaily colored paper. She went out into the gray twilight and looked helplessly around. Finally, she went up to a doorman, resplendent in blue and gold. "Excuse me please," she said in her hesitant English, "can you tell me where to find a poor street?"
"A poor street, Miss?" said the puzzled man.
"Yes, a very poor street. The poorest in the city."
The doorman looked doubtful. "Well, you might try Harlem. Or down in the Village. Or the Lower East Side, maybe."
But these names meant nothing to Ursula. She thanked the doorman and walked along, threading her way through the stream of shoppers until she came to a tall policeman.
"Please, can you direct me to a poor street...in Harlem?"
The policeman looked at her sharply and shook his head. "Harlem's no place for you, miss." And he blew his whistle an sent the traffic whirling past.
Holding her package carefully, she walked on, head bowed against the sharpness of the winter wind. If a street looked poorer than the one she was on, she took it. But none seemed like the slums she had heard about.
Darkness came sifting from the sky. Ursula was cold and discouraged and afraid of becoming lost. She came to an intersection and stood forlornly on the corner. What she was trying to do suddenly seemed foolish, impulsive and absurd. Then, through the traffic's roar, she heard the cheerful tinkle of a bell. On the corner opposite, a Salvation Army man was making his holiday tradition appeal by ringing the bell.
At once, Ursula felt better. The Salvation Army was part of life in Switzerland, too. Surely this man could tell her what she wanted to know. She waited for the light, then crossed the street.
"Can you help me? I'm looking for a baby. I have a present for the poorest baby I can find." She held the package with the green ribbon and gaily wrapped paper up for him to see.
Dressed in gloves and an overcoat too big for him, he seemed a very ordinary man. But, behind the steel rimmed glasses, his eyes were kind. He looked at Ursula and stopped ringing the bell.
"What sort of present?"
"A little dress. For a small, poor baby. Do you know one?"
Oh, yes. More than one, I am afraid."
"Is it far away? Could I take a taxi there?"
The Salvation Army man wrinkled his forehead. Finally, he said, "It's almost six o'clock. My relief will show up then. If you wait and can afford the taxi ride, I will take you to a family in my neighborhood who needs just about everything."
"And they have a small baby?"
"A very small baby", he said.
"Then," said Ursula joyfully, "I wait!"
The substitute bell ringer came. A cruising taxi slowed. In its welcomed warmth, Ursula told her new friend about herself, how she came to New York, what she was trying to do. He listened in silence, and the taxi driver listened too. When they reached their destination, the driver said, "Take your time, Miss."
On the sidewalk, Ursula stared up at the forbidding tenement - dark, decaying, saturated with hopelessness. A gust of wind, iron-cold, stirred the refuse in the street and rattled the trash cans.
"They live on the third floor. Shall we go up?"
But Ursula shook her head. "They would try and thank me, but this is not from me. Take it up for me please. Say it's from...from someone who has everything." And she pressed the package in his hand.
The taxi bore her swiftly through the streets to the lighted ones. From misery to abundance. She tried to visualize the Salvation Army man climbing the stairs, knocking on the door, the explanation, the package being opened, the look when they saw the dress. It was hard to do.
Arriving at the apartment on Fifth Avenue, she got out her purse.
"There is no charge, miss."
"No charge?"
The taxi cab driver smiled, "I've been paid."
Ursula was up early the next morning. She set the table with special care. By the time she finished, the family was awake and there was the excitement and laughter of Christmas morning. Soon, the living room was a sea of discarded wrappings. Ursula thanked everyone for the presents she received.
Finally, when there was a lull, she explained why there were no presents from her.
She hesitantly explained about the department store, the Salvation Army man, the taxi ride, the little dress.
When she was finished, there was a long silence. No one could trust themselves to speak.
"So you see," said Ursula, "I try and do kindness in your name. And this is my Christmas present to you."
I can't read this story without tears. It emulates what I am trying to teach my children, and myself this year. That we are doing kindness in His name. That that is our Christmas present to him.
I cut out twelve hug pillows yesterday. I hope to make twenty. That way, twenty children can have a Christmas hug from someone who has everything.
1 comment:
You and your christmas stories and service projects get me bawling every time. I love this story. Thanks for sharing.
Post a Comment