A Humble Gift of Song

By Michael K. Farrar, O.D.

© God’s Breath Publications

 

Bill wandered the alleys of New York scrounging for something special. His wife was back in their shanty behind the warehouse. They were homeless and destitute but they still had each other. It was December in New York and the brisk cold of the morning bit at Bill’s face as he wandered the alleys and back streets of the Big Apple. Usually Bill’s task was looking for scraps of food, but Bill’s mission this morning was to find some form of gift he could give his wife for Christmas. Last year, he had been lucky enough to come across a broken necklace in a garbage bin. He had fumbled with the chain and been able to partially mend it. His wife had loved it. She had sold what little jewelry she had years ago to pay for some much-needed surgery he had to have done. The bright sparkling necklace had resurrected the smile that his wife used to wear on a regular basis. While she attempted the smile these days, it didn’t have the same appearance as those in better days. He didn’t think he could be lucky enough to find another necklace this year, but it was worth a shot.

 

Bill shuffled through piles of garbage that had blown up against stairwells. He examined the contents of metal and plastic garbage cans behind all sorts of stores and businesses. He leaned over the edge of dumpsters sifting through all manor of refuse in an attempt to find a gift for his blessed Helen. He had been on his quest for a gift for the last few weeks. He always found food in some form or another and possibly a piece of clothing which they could use, but was having no luck at any form of gift. Tomorrow was Christmas day and he wanted to have something special to give Helen. They would walk to the soup kitchen and have a hot meal for their Christmas dinner but it would be a shame if he didn’t come up with some sort of present to celebrate the occasion.

 

Greatly discouraged, Bill walked back to his home in the alley. He took a different route behind the old Scottish church. As he passed the rear of the huge gothic stone building his thoughts went to a time in his youth when he had sung in a church choir. He had enjoyed that time. He remembered singing at the top of his lungs, especially during the Christmas cantatas. Bill’s thoughts of childhood were interrupted when his eyes caught sight of a partially hidden garbage can behind the old church. He had trained himself for too many years to notice such containers. It was instinctive for him to venture towards anything resembling an object of this type to look for discarded items. Bill peered into the dark can. It was pitch black. He tried dragging it out into the poorly lit alley, but it was chained to a post. Well, he would just have to go fishing.

 

He stuck his hand into the blackness and began feeling around. He felt a piece of food with the texture of a banana peel. His cold fingers brushed lightly what appeared to be a sharp piece of glass. “Lucky,” he thought. If he had grabbed it he surely would have cut himself badly. His fingers continued probing in the darkness. Suddenly he came across something that felt like a book or collection of papers. He attempted to gather the pages up in his hands and removed them from the dark opening of the garbage can.

 

Bill looked down at the small group of papers. He studied them for a moment and then realized what they were. The wrinkled dirty pages were a portion of a hymnal that had apparently been damaged and thrown away. There were about a dozen pages stained with spoiled food and the wetness of the recent rain but he could still read the words. Bill arranged them with the titles to the songs at the top and began reading through them. Then Bill got an idea. Maybe he couldn’t find a necklace this year for his wife, but possibly he could give her something that would symbolize the season even more. Yes, that’s what he would do. He folded the torn and tattered remnants of the hymnal and put them in his coat pocket. He hummed to himself several of the songs on the papers as he returned home to his beloved Helen.

 

Bill entered the alley where he and Helen lived with several other homeless families. It was a fairly well sheltered alley where they had built structures using discarded wood to sleep in. Helen had a fire going and was cooking some sort of mixture of stew in an old dented aluminum pot. Bill stopped his humming for he didn’t want to spoil his surprise. They had a hot meal of small portions of the stew Helen had prepared and then laid down in their well-worn sleeping bags for a good nights sleep.

 

Christmas morning was especially cold and a light wind was blowing which didn’t help. Bill woke up and looked up into the sky. “At least it wasn’t snowing.” He thought. He sat up and fumbled with his coat pocket and retrieved the folded pages of the discarded hymnal. He began to read over the words of the songs. His thoughts went back to his days as a young boy in the church choir. He thought of how he had strayed from God when hard times had come. He had blamed God for the struggles that had befallen him and Helen. As he read the words he seemed to feel that God was hovering over him, watching. He looked up. He didn’t see God anywhere, but he sure felt he was near. Maybe this gift he was going to give Helen was as much for him as it was for her? Maybe God was trying to show them that no matter what had happened, God still loved them and cared about them. After all, that was the meaning of Christmas in the first place. God had loved mankind so much that He had given up His only Son so that mankind could be saved from their sins. Yes, this precious gift he was giving Helen was as much for him as it was for her. “Thanks Lord.” He thought. “Thanks for breaking into my poor simple world to show me the true meaning of this wonderful season.” He glanced over at Helen who was just waking up.

 

“Well, are you ready for your Christmas present?”

 

“What?” Helen replied.

 

“Your Christmas present, I’ve got you a wonderful Christmas present this year.”

 

“Well I guess I’m ready. Where is it?”

 

“Well it’s not the kind you get to open. It’s the kind you have to listen to. I’m going to sing you some songs.”

 

“Oh I haven’t heard you sing in so long. You’ve got a beautiful voice you know Bill. Please sing for me.”

 

Bill was only too glad to oblige. He stood up in the frigid morning air and arranged his hymnal pages in the order he felt appropriate. Bill knew it was God’s work that the remnants of the discarded hymnal happened to be all Christmas carols. He began singing in a deep but soft, perfectly tuned baritone voice, Hark the Herald Angels Sing, then O Little Town of Bethlehem and then Away in the Manger. When he began singing Silent Night Helen joined in with her beautiful mature alto voice and the loving couple praised the Lord they had long forgotten. Bill and Helen both thought to themselves, “You’re never too old to come back to the Lord. It doesn’t matter what has happened in your life, you’re always accepted by God and He’s always there to comfort you.”

 

They sang and sang from the soiled hymnal pages as a tear fell here and there from their eyes. The small salty drops of emotion fell to the ground gradually crystallizing in the freezing air and falling like tiny beautiful crystals upon the cardboard floor of their small humble dwelling. It was a Christmas they would both remember for many years to come.