by Bill Myers
“This is what Christmas is about.”
“But . . . you didn’t get any gifts.”
He motioned to the crowd. “What do you call this? Look at their faces, TJ. Look at the joy we get to be a part of.”
Once again she scanned the room. It was true: everyone was having a good time—the homeless, the church members. Even Number One and the skin-and-bones kid who saved her sister. They were talking. Actually, more than talking—they were holding hands! (Though Number One was careful to keep a napkin between them.)
And Dorie? She’d found a new friend in Number Thuree. Not that Number Thuree talked that much, but it didn’t stop Dorie. The little thing could do enough talking for both of them. Actually, she could do enough talking for the entire room.
“This is Christmas, sweetheart,” Dad said. As he spoke, someone near the tree started to sing a carol.
“Hark! the herald angels sing,
‘Glory to the newborn King.’”
Dad continued. “I know you miss Mom. I miss her too. But we have to go on.” He gave TJ a little hug.
“And isn’t this how Christmas should be celebrated? Being with the ones you love . . . and loving your friends and neighbors as God loves them?”
The song grew louder as more people joined in.
“‘Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!’”
TJ gave her eyes another swipe and glanced down.
Finally she began to nod. He was right. It had taken her a while to see it and she’d definitely learned the hard way, but he was right. Spotting the money in her hand, she raised it halfheartedly. “And what about this?”
Dad smiled. He glanced around the room until he spotted a small box at the end of the table. Someone was dropping something inside it. When he stepped back, TJ saw the word Donations.
She frowned, then looked at Dad. He gave her a wink, his smile growing bigger.
And she had her answer.
Without a word, TJ slipped from his arms, walked to the box, and dropped in the last of her hard-earned money. As she did, the song grew even louder.
“Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
Join the triumph of the skies.”
She returned to her father, who had started to sing along. Snuggling into the warmth of his arms, she also joined in.
“With angelic hosts proclaim,
‘Christ is born in Bethlehem!’”
Across the room, invisible to everyone but TJ and still covered in cellophane tape, she spotted Tuna and Herby. They floated near the tree and were singing at the top of their lungs . . . completely off-key.
“Hark! the herald angels sing,”
They spotted her and grinned.
She grinned back, trying not to wince at their voices.
The boys gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed the words Merry Christmas.
She nodded, smiled, and returned the greeting. Merry Christmas.
Because it was a merry Christmas. Here, as she shared the love of her family, of her friends, and of people she didn’t even know. Here, as everyone shared in God’s love. Despite the problems, the mix-ups, and the mess-ups, it was quickly becoming one of TJ Finkelstein’s merriest Christmases ever.
“‘Glory to the newborn King!’”
Would you like Bill Myers
(author of TJ and the Time Stumblers series)
to visit your school?
Send him an e-mail:
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