BY STEVEN RAY BOWEN
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Of the thousand or more columns we have been blessed to author for the past quarter of a century, this one was one of my favorites. There was something about the homeless lady on the side of the road back in 1999 that compelled me.
And, now, a quarter of a century later, it still does.
My daughter Rachel and I were at a red light near the parking lot of a store one Christmas when we saw the lady standing there at the corner, holding a sign that read:
“Please help. Trying to get home for Christmas.”
Seeing that lady – many days shy of 30 – with teeth rotted and clothes shabby, standing there during the Christmas season begging, brought an uninvited lump to my throat.
I know. She may make more money in a day than we make in a week.
And she may use the money to buy the wrong things.
But I didn’t think about those things as I rolled down my window and handed her a little money, and asked,
“Where’s home?”
“Oklahoma,” she said, “I want to go to Oklahoma for Christmas to see my two kids.”
“I hope you make it,” I said, “I really hope you do.”
The light turned green, and she said “God bless you,” and Rachel and I turned into the parking lot to press on with our holiday business: buying gifts, listening to the silver bells ringing, and hustling and bustling around.
I turned to Rachel, whose face told me she thought I might be crazy.
“I don’t know whether that girl was really in need or not,” I said, “but whatever brings a person to stand on the corner of a street to beg for money is sad.”
Especially at Christmas.
I’ve carried that little memory with me during this season for years now, as I spend time with my own family. When we first wrote this, Mal was about to fly home that night, and we all were going to be together for the first time in a year. There are certain things that everyone deserves the right to do at this time of the year, and I can’t help but think of those things during this holiday season.
The list is long, too:
Drink a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows.
Roast marshmallows in the fireplace.
Open presents in front of the fire and watch kids’ faces glow.
Watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” and “Home Alone” one more time.
Eat fudge and chocolate-covered cherries and pretzels dipped in white chocolate.
Play cards around the kitchen table.
Sleep late and wake to the sound of cartoons and the smell of breakfast cooking.
Watch football.
Go for a walk together in the crisp wintry air.
Jump in the car and drive around ooo-ing and ahhh-ing at all the lights and decorations.
Drink spicy hot apple cider, which I now know is called “wassail.”
Call my grandma and wish her a happy 89th Christmas – well, that’s what I wrote back in 1999. I can’t do that now, but we can think of it. And we will.
Listen to my favorite Christmas song: “A-way in a manger, no crib for a bed, the little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head. The stars in the sky looked down where he lay. The little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay …”
Listen to my second favorite Christmas song: “Silver bells. Silver bells. It’s Christmas time in the city. Ding-a-ling. Hear them ring. Soon it will be Christmas Day.”
Walk around the house singing “Dash-ing through the snoooooow, in a one horse open sleeeeeeigh …” until my kids say, “Dad, please stop singing that song” – just as they did when they were 10 and 11 years old.
Be nice and meet my kids’ request and change songs: “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw it, you would even say it gloooows …”
Then change songs again just to broaden my kids’ Christmas experience: “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”
You know, that’s what I want for Christmas more than anything else. There’s nothing like that in the whole world.
Just being home for Christmas.
I hope that all of you get a chance to be home this year, to gather with your families and loved ones, and to do a few of the things on this list.
And somewhere up in Oklahoma, I hope there’s a somewhat young, no-longer homeless lady opening presents and singing Christmas tunes with the two little kids who call her mom.
If that little dream comes true, there’ll be one less homeless person for Christmas.
Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.
