MENU
LINKS
In 1962 I was preaching in
Indianapolis, Indiana. I was
single, and it was Christmas time. I
was headed home
to Michigan to enjoy the holidays with
my family. It
was an extremely cold day, and it was
snowing.
The wind was howling out of the North,
blowing thick
clouds of fine flakes across the road. It looked like a
clouds of fine flakes across the road. It looked like a
blizzard. The roads were icy in
places, and there was
little traffic. Somewhere near Ft.
Wayne, Indiana, I saw
a soldier standing under an overpass.
He had a green
army cap pulled as tight and low as
possible over his head,
his collar was pulled up around his
ears, his hands were
shoved down in his pockets, and he had
a stuffed duffel
bag standing beside him.
I was driving a Chevrolet Corvette, and
I was going very
fast.....faster than I should have
been, considering the
road conditions. As I sped by, the
soldier jerked one hand
out of his pocket and raised his
thumb. My Corvette had
two seats....not a front and back seat,
but two seats side by
side...and I was in one of them. The
trunk was big enough to
hold three loaves of bread and a pound
of lunch meat. Not
only was my limited trunk space stuffed
full with the clothes
and boots I would need for my stay in
Michigan, the front seat
was stacked high as well with the
presents that I had purchased
for my folks and my nieces and nephews.
When I saw the soldier, I was going
much to fast to stop, and
I was well down the highway before I
gave it much thought. I
told myself that I couldn't possibly
get him and his duffel bag
in the car. I debated about the
terrible inconvenience and delay
it would cause if I did, and by the
time I decided that perhaps I ought
to at least offer to help, I was two
miles down the road and out of
sight. But my Christian conscience
really went to work on me.
It was so cold, traffic was almost
nonexistent....he was a soldier
and it was Christmas. The inner battle
raged for another three
miles. Finally, I decided I would
never get any peace unless I
offered to help. So I made a U-turn
and went back. I hoped
with all my heart that someone else had
picked him up.
That way, I could satisfy my conscience
and not be
inconvenienced...wouldn't that be
great? But he was still
there, looking more forlorn, lonely,
and colder than ever.
I was disgusted. I pulled up and
rolled down the window.
He came running, stumbling on his numb
feet, dragging the
duffel bag. He leaned over and stuck
his head in the
window. His face was bluish, his teeth
were chattering.
His eyebrows and eyelashes were matted
with frozen snow,
and he could scarcely speak
intelligibly.
"Thanks so much for stopping," he
said. "I had about
given up hope.
That was not what I wanted to hear.
"Where are you going?" I asked, hoping
that it was in some
direction that would alleviate me from
further responsibility.
"I live in Michigan, in Taylor
Township," he said hopefully.
That was really discouraging. It
wasn't directly on my way,
but it wasn't too much out of my way
either.
"I'm going to Royal Oak," I said
reluctantly.
"Oh," he said, "I know where that it.
That's great! If I
could just ride with you to Ann Arbor,
it would mean a
lot to me. I'm almost frozen; I can't
feel my ears or feet
any more," he said plaintively.
"I don't think I can possibly get both
you and your things in,"
I said.
"If you'll let me, I'll get in....I
promise you. I've been standing
here for three hours."
I told him to try getting in and we
began rearranging things.
The duffel bag was almost as big as he
was, and there was only
one place for it...the passenger seat.
No matter how he put it in
the car, he couldn't get in himself. I
suggested that maybe he
could hide it somewhere and come back
for it later. He said
he couldn't possible to that; it had
his kids' Christmas presents
in it and he wasn't going anywhere
without it. I finally got out, walked
around the car and told him to sit down
in the passenger seat. As he
sat there, I wedged the duffel bag
between his legs and between the
floor and the roof of the car. I
sandwiched all of my presents around
him...and I slammed the door. He
couldn't move, he couldn't see
out either the windshield or his side
window...but he was in. I
still don't know how we did it.
Once he began to get warm, he began to
talk. I found out he
was stationed at Fort Leonard Wood,
Missouri. "Didn't I see
you go by about five minutes ago?" he
asked. I really felt stupid.
"Ummm, yes," I said.
"You mean you turned around and came
back?!" I nodded an affirmative.
"Why would you do that?" I paused a
long moment.
"Well, you see, I was raised in a home
where helping people who
were in need was very important. In
addition, I'm a minister...
actually it's more than that...I'm a
Christian, and if it weren't for
that, I'd probably still be going. I
have as hard a time doing the
right thing as most folks. I fought
with this decision for five
miles. It's Jesus who makes me do
things like turn around and
come back. When I don't do the right
thing, I have this feeling He's
looking at me and He's so disappointed
that I can't stand it."
"Oh!" he said. "You don't know how
that convicts me. I'm
going to tell you something I never
thought I'd tell anybody. I'm
no Christian, but my wife is the best
person in the whole world,
and she goes to church all the time and
takes the kids.
Truthfully, I've done everything I
could to discourage her,
but she just keeps going. She's all
the time trying to get me
to go, telling me that someday I'm
going to wish I had.
"Do you know why I'm hitchhiking? Let
me tell you a little
story. I was turned down for holiday
leave because I got drunk
and caused some trouble at the base. I
was sick about it. I
haven't seen my wife and kids for six
months. A friend of mine,
who's single, found out at the last
minute that his folks were
coming to visit some relatives who live
close to the base during
the holidays. He went to our
commanding officer and volunteered
to take my duty, if he would let me go
home.
"He gave me permission, but I had spent
all my money buying
presents, which I was going to mail
home, so I decided to
start hitchhiking. My family doesn't
even know I'm coming. I
wasn't sure I'd make it and I didn't
want to disappoint them.
I've been standing there for three
hours, thinking. I watched
folks drive by, and it occurred to me
that some of them must
be Christians, and it made me feel
pretty bitter...until I got
to thinking about what a lousy person I
am, and I knew if I was
them that I probably wouldn't stop
either.
"Let me tell you something
embarrassing...I got so cold, so
lonely, and so desperate that I started
to pray...honest to God
I did....it was so humiliating. I told
God that if He would help me,
I'd do better. And you know what?
About that time you showed
up, and you told me that you came back
because of Jesus...
now what to you make of that?"
"Well, first I'd say that maybe there's
more to Christianity
than either of us thought; and second,
I'd say you'd better
start doing better." I found out
exactly where he lived, and
we agreed that I could get him pretty
close before I had to go
in another direction. I think I knew
what I was going to do
long before I actually said anything.
As we approached the
intersection where I was going to let
him out, I told him that
I had made up my mind to take him home.
About two hours later, we pulled up in
his driveway. It
was almost dark.
He was really excited. He asked me to
blow my horn, and
I did. A few minutes passed, and the
inside door opened
slowly. The glass in the outside door
was frosted over, and
whoever was looking out could only tell
that there was a car
in the driveway. The outside door
opened, and a five- or
six-year old, barefooted boy peeked
around the door. When
he saw my sports car, he came out on
the porch and peered
intently at us. His dad opened the
door and stepped out.
"Hi, David. It's Daddy; I'm home for
Christmas!" He started
to say more, but the boy had seen the
uniform and heard the
voice.
The boy's face lit up, and he turned
back into the house. I
could hear him distinctly......"Mama,
Daddy's home!" he
yelled shrilly. "Daddy's home! Mama!
Mama! Daddy's home
for Christmas!"
The door opened again, and it didn't
open slowly this time....it
was thrown open. A woman dressed in a
bathrobe and house
slippers came running down the steps,
her hair flying in the wind,
oblivious to the snow and the cold,
eyes and mouth opened wide
with excitement, with joy etched in
every line of her face. "Oh, Carl,"
she said, "Oh, Carl, you're home.
Praise God, you're home! The
kids and I have been praying every day
that, somehow, God
would send you home."
She was followed by a skinny,
fair-haired, ten-year-old girl
and finally by a tow-headed,
blanket-toting, two- or three-year-
old girl. They kissed and hugged and
laughed and cried, and
they danced in the cold and the snow
until the soldier finally
disentangled himself from them long
enough to introduce me.
"This is John," he said. "He's a
minister and he's also a Christian;
and if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be
here. And I'm going to tell
you something, honey, right here and
now. I told John that I had
promised God that I was going to do
better, and I am. I'm going
to stop drinking, be a better husband,
a better father...a better man...
and we're going to start going to
church together."
I have never witnessed such gratitude
in my life. They all had
to hug me and kiss me....even the
two-year-old....and they told
me what a blessing I was to them and
that they owed me a
debt they could never pay. I was so
embarrassed, because
I was so unworthy. I had grudged the
whole thing until
after we had started talking. I wanted
to tell them that
I didn't deserve any thanks.
I tried to leave, but they simply
wouldn't allow it. I had to
go in the house. I had to eat
something and drink something;
I had to accept a gift from them...yes,
I had to. They would not
allow me not to, and the more they did,
the better and the worse
I felt.
I was so embarrassed. You know why? I
had just witnessed
something private...a family
thing...something I wasn't part of...
something not meant for
outsiders...and, yes, I was...I was
embarrassed.
And you know what else?
I envied Carl. I thought that it must
be wonderful beyond
description to be loved by a woman like
that and missed
like that and to be so unworthy...and I
think Carl was just
beginning to understand what he had. I
have learned since
then that only those who have come to
know and feel the
love of God can love the unworthy...and
I have also learned
that we are all unworthy.
Carl was home. I think that at that
moment, home meant
more to him, perhaps, than it would
ever mean again. And
when I got to my home and saw my folks
and told them why
I was late, they were so proud of
me...and I was a little
proud of myself. Home was somehow
brighter, warmer,
more dear to me than it had ever been
before. Every
human longing...bound up in the
inherent yearning to
be loved and to be "home" and to
experience the peace
and security that "home"
signifies...has found its
fulfillment in Jesus who said, "I go to
prepare a place
for you." Everything we ever dreamed
of home being...
what it was or was not...is that
place. Jesus has given purpose,
even to the dream of death, because for
those who know God...
that is the way home.
"How silently, how silently,
the wondrous gift is given.
So God imparts to human hearts,
the blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
but in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him
still,
the dear Christ enters in."
Jesus comes to us in many ways. He
came to me in the
form of a freezing soldier trying to
get home for Christmas.
He came to a freezing soldier in the
form of a young minister
trying to find his way to God. Either
one of us could have
missed Him.
Jesus will come to you this Christmas
too, and His
coming will be in an unexpected
way....Don't miss Him.
By John William Smith
Midi: O Little Town of Bethlehem
