Fall flew by, and before I knew it December had arrived. My class was deep into plans for Christmas. There were decorations to be made, gifts to finish, and a party to plan for.
The day of the party dawned cold and rainy. Karen's health had not been good, and I was terribly afraid she might miss the party. I should have known better. Karen was one of the first to rush through the door.
The whole day was a howling success. We played games, we made some decorations to take home, we wrapped our parents' gifts.
As the room mothers prepared the refreshments I called the children to the story rug. The lights on the tree shone on their happy faces. I was carrying two books, and the children wiggled with anticipation at the prospect of more than one story.
The children helped with the telling of "The Night Before Christmas."
My second story was a particularly poignant one. Mother and Daddy had to take a long trip. Mommy was expecting a baby and she didn't feel like traveling.
The children knew instantly what story I had saved until last. They settled in comfortably, and as the story unfolded I could see the students were anticipating each part. Only tiny Karen seemed puzzled by the tale. She moved closer to my chair, hanging on to every phrase, hardly blinking in her effort to catch each word.
At the conclusion of the story the children rushed to devour the party food. Karen ate her ice cream and cake quietly, a faraway look in her eyes.
When the last of the punch had been slurped and the last plate licked clean, the children gathered their belongings and left. But Karen lingered; something was on her mind.
"Could I take the book about Jesus home, please?"
"Don't you have a manger scene to put up at your house?"
Karen shook her head.
"Don't you hear the story at Sunday school?" Again Karen shook her head.
"Do you have a book at home with pictures of the baby Jesus?"
Slipping her tiny hand into mine, she replied solemnly, "I never heard that story before."
I stiffened. Here in America—in Arizona—in sophisticated Scottsdale—there was someone who had never heard the Christmas story! It seemed incredible, yet Karen's honest little face told me that, indeed, she had not heard the blessed story of our Lord's birth.
Tucking the book under her arm and blinking back my own tears, I said, "You keep this book as long as you want to, Karen. " And giving her a hug, I added, "Have a happy Christmas."
I learned later that Karen's parents were atheists. The following year Karen moved out of my sphere of influence. I was thankful for the opportunity to tell the miraculous story to a child of God who did not yet know Him.
Each one has a sphere of influence great or small. Therein lies an opportunity to spread God's love. A grieving neighbor, an abused child, a drug-addicted teenager, a lonely senior citizen—they are all part of God's world. Each needs to feel the care and concern that we as Christians can offer. Blessings will come to you as well as to those you touch.
We need to pray daily for the many who do not yet know God and Christ Jesus. Pray that you may be an instrument for love and goodwill in His hands.
