The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. Since his wife died, it was just another day to him. He was looking at the snow when the door opened and a homeless man stepped in. Instead of throwing the man out, George told him to sit by the heater to get warm. “Thank you, but I don’t mean to intrude,” said the stranger. “You’re busy, so I’ll just go.” “Not without something hot in your belly.” George said. He opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. “It ain’t much, but it’s hot and tasty. Stew … Made it myself. When you’re done, there’s coffee and it’s fresh.”
He then heard the “ding” of the driveway bell. “Excuse me,” George said. In the driveway was an old ’53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. “Mister can you help me?” said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. “My wife is with child and my car is broken.” George opened the hood. It looked bad. “You ain’t going in this thing,” George said. “But Mister, please help.” George went to the office and got the keys to his old truck, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. “Here, take my truck,” he said. “She ain’t the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good.” George watched as they drove off into the night. The stranger was gone. The Thermos was empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. “Well, at least he got something in his belly,” George thought.
He then heard shots being fired. He ran outside and found a cop laying on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, “Please help me.” George helped the officer inside his office. He knew the wound needed attention. “You hang in there, I’m going to get you an ambulance.” The phone was dead. “Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car.” He found that a bullet had destroyed the two-way radio.
He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. “Thanks,” said the officer. “You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area.” George sat down beside him and poured a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” he asked. “None for me,” said the officer. “Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain’t got no donuts.” The officer laughed and winced at the same time.
The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. “Give me all your cash! Do it now!” the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before. “That’s the guy that shot me!” exclaimed the officer. “Son, why are you doing this?” asked George, “You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt.” The young man was confused. “Shut up old man, or I’ll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!” The cop was reaching for his gun. “Put that thing away,” George said to the cop, “we got one too many in here now.”
He turned to the young man. “Son, it’s Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain’t much but it’s all I got. Now put that pea shooter away.” George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. “I’m not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son. I’ve lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week.” George handed the gun to the cop. “Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can. Sometimes we do stupid things.” George handed the young man a cup of coffee. “Bein’ stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin’ in here with a gun ain’t the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we’ll sort this thing out.” The young man stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. “Sorry I shot you. It just went off.” “Shut up and drink your coffee,” the cop said. George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came in through the door, guns drawn. “Chuck! You ok?” one cop asked. “Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?”
“GPS locator in the car. Who did this?” the other cop asked. Chuck answered, “I don’t know. The guy just dropped his gun and ran.” George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other. “That guy work here?” the wounded cop asked. “Yep,” George said, “just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job.” As the paramedics loaded him onto the stretcher, the young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, “Why?” Chuck said, “Merry Christmas boy … and you too, George, and thanks for everything.”
George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out an airplane and a truck. “Here’s something for that little man of yours.” The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had given him. “And what are you gonna buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too,” George said. “Now git home to your family.” The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good.” “Nope. I’m closed Christmas day,” George said. “See ya the day after.”
George turned around to find that the stranger had returned.”Where’d you come from? I thought you left.” “I have always been here,” said the stranger. “You say you don’t celebrate Christmas. Why?” “Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn’t see what all the bother was. Puttin’ up a tree is a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin’ cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn’t the same by myself and besides I was gettin’ a little chubby.” The stranger put his hand on George. “But you do celebrate Christmas, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you rich and not take any himself. That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man.” George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. “And how do you know all this?” he asked. “Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again.”
The stranger moved toward the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned.” George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room. “You see, George … it’s My birthday. Merry Christmas.” George fell to his knees and replied, “Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus.”