Innkeeper's Note:
How are things going for you? I leave a Christmas story. Tomorrow, I'll leave my favorite while we are still in the holiday season.
Gather around the fireplace warming the inn. We may be frazzled by the call of Madison Avenue. QVC and the Home Shopping Network may be as-saulting us with gift options for loved ones. Commercials from Kohls, Best Buy, Macy's, and other department stores bombard our sanity. The craziness endured during the whirly bur-ly of frenzied shopping may overwhelm.
Please slow down.
This post shares a story of the noncommercial kind. My favorite Christmas Story continues to be, well, the Christmas Story. What follows counts as my second favorite. I heard this story when I was fourteen. My rendering of it lies before you.
*******************************
A pleasant, reasonable man named James Olivus didn't care for Christmas.
His personality did not reflect that of a Grinch nor a Scrooge. He didn't want to have anything to do with Christ. A hard heart, he did not have.
Jim's reputation stood as being kind, and well-liked by neighbors and co-workers. James always had something thoughtful to say. He didn't care what the morning journal had to say of him.
If God existed, James reasoned, the Almighty could open up the heavens. He could speak directly to mankind, as a celestial star, if He liked. The whole “Jesus thing” appeared ridiculous.
A well-meant fantasy, he thought. For this educated man of the 21st century, this story made zero sense.
Christmas Eve approached. James followed his holiday routine. He partied at a friend’s house, enjoying good company along with holiday cheer of the liquid kind.
Christmas Eve approached. James followed his holiday routine. He partied at a friend’s house, enjoying good company along with holiday cheer of the liquid kind.
At 11:15 p.m., he arrived home. Before walking in, he brushed off the snow from his coat. Gently, it began to blanket his lawn, home, and neighborhood.
Once inside, James created a blaze in the living room fireplace. He looked forward to a midnight read. The hearth would remove the chill from his home before he called it a night.
Thirty minutes into his reading, he heard a strong, "Thump!" His curiosity peaked when he heard it again: "Thump!"
Thirty minutes into his reading, he heard a strong, "Thump!" His curiosity peaked when he heard it again: "Thump!"
His eyes widened. Like an attentive dog, his ears were attuned to the source of this irreg-ular percussive noise. It pounded louder than the crackling fire before him.
Mr. Olivus heard it a third time: "Thump!" Routinely, something regularly struck the twelve-foot-wide living room window facing the front yard. "Teenagers throwing snowballs at my home!" he thought.
He rushed outside. No children in sight. He encircled his house, looking for the cause of the mysterious noise.
The snow poured like a ticker-tape parade. The wind bit his face. He longed for the fire awaiting when he returned to his suburban home.
Approaching the front yard, James saw them. A flock of birds. At that mo-ment, James witnessed two birds dart away from the group.
They slammed into the plate-glass living room window. "Thump, thump!"
These feathered cre-atures smashed into the window like the planes flying into the World Trade Center Twin Towers on that fateful day. Their bodies did not penetrate the home but fell to the ground.
The birds were confused. They were frightened by the swirling snow. The flock huddled under the extended branches of an ash tree.
They could still peer inside James' house. Shelter from the bitter cold of this Christmas Eve evening they sought. No success.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!" Three more birds dove into the glass, crumpling to the white-covered ground. A good heart, James had. A frown contorted his face as he observed the plight of the birds.
He raced into his home. Inside, all of the lights in his living room he shut off.
He thought, "If they can't see inside, they will stop their attempts." The birds no longer saw inside his house. The darkened window created a cave-like appearance.
These feathered cre-atures smashed into the window like the planes flying into the World Trade Center Twin Towers on that fateful day. Their bodies did not penetrate the home but fell to the ground.
The birds were confused. They were frightened by the swirling snow. The flock huddled under the extended branches of an ash tree.
They could still peer inside James' house. Shelter from the bitter cold of this Christmas Eve evening they sought. No success.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!" Three more birds dove into the glass, crumpling to the white-covered ground. A good heart, James had. A frown contorted his face as he observed the plight of the birds.
He raced into his home. Inside, all of the lights in his living room he shut off.
He thought, "If they can't see inside, they will stop their attempts." The birds no longer saw inside his house. The darkened window created a cave-like appearance.
The birds continued flying headlong into the glass. Tiny, winged bodies piled below.
The man ran to the garage 30 feet away. He threw open the seven-teen-foot wide door to provide the birds shelter. They continued slam-ming against the window.
The feathered creatures were desperate for a haven from the sub-freezing weather. James rushed inside the garage, turning on the lights. Now, he thought, they’ll see the refuge needed is here.
James called out to the birds. “Hey! Over here! Over here!” The birds could not be beckoned to the garage.
Finally, he rushed into the flock. He yelled, waving his arms. If the birds had been confused, their hearts now raced with fear.
A wild man ran among them, bewildering them.
James realized the futility of his efforts. No way could he herd the birds to the shelter of his garage. They had no clue about the sanctuary he offered.
The sickening sound of "Thump! thump! thump!" echoed their efforts at finding comfort. Frustrated, he stood in the darkness of the yard. Snow poured upon him as the birds died, diving into the window.
James thought, “If only I could be a bird for a few minutes. . . I could talk to them in their language – they wouldn't be afraid of me; they would understand how to save themselves.”
As he thought, the church bells from the town began pealing. The clock struck midnight. The rings ushered in Christmas morning, the day celebrating Christ's birth.
As he thought, the church bells from the town began pealing. The clock struck midnight. The rings ushered in Christmas morning, the day celebrating Christ's birth.
The snow continued falling.
It drifted upon the fences. It alighted upon the rooftops of the homes in the community. It lay upon the nearby hills, frosting the landscape.
It drifted upon the fences. It alighted upon the rooftops of the homes in the community. It lay upon the nearby hills, frosting the landscape.
As it did, James crumpled to his knees.
“Now I understand why you became a man,” he whispered. His head drooped. James' chin lay on his chest.
“Now I understand why you became a man,” he whispered. His head drooped. James' chin lay on his chest.
Tears warmed his icy cheeks. “I now understand the Gift celebrated on this day.”
May you have a great and grateful Christmas!
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment