Angels In The Square (A Christmas Story)

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Angels In The Square (A Christmas Story) #249341 Dec 14th, 2008 at 03:43 PM
Joined: Oct 2004 Posts: 23,310 Maine Merme OP Grande Damme
OP Merme Grande Damme Joined: Oct 2004 Posts: 23,310 Maine	Angels In the Square A Christmas Story by Mary-El Salunek 6 December 2002 At this time of year I have always enjoyed looking for opportunities to play the role of an anonymous Christmas Angel for some unsuspecting person. Over the years I've had many fun adventures trying to bless others in secrecy, but certainly none more lovely than the Christmas of 1985. That winter I was quite ill with a difficult pregnancy that ultimately would not have a happy outcome. I was also working extremely long hours for a high-powered office of architects and land developers and it wasn't at all unusual for me to spend 60 to 65 hours at the office each week. Since I was all about business suits and briefcases and young enough to be edgy with sharp attitudes and expectations of my own, I thrived in that demanding work environment. Yet by 8 PM on Friday nights I was ready to be done. If I could get out of the office that early, my favorite thing was to have my husband Craig pick me up so we could make the pleasant drive together to Hyde Park, an elegant suburb of Cincinnati. Although we had not had the chance to do so for several months, we always enjoyed arriving after hours on the sleepy square filled with swank boutiques and lively little bistros. Because of the significant amount of tension in my personal life and career, I had grown quite fond of Zino's, a fine eatery famous for it's ability to create private dining experiences for all of it's patrons. Zino's had an intriquing interior design which allowed all the tables to be set into secluded nooks which were then further isolated by the tall backs of the wicker fan-style chairs. Seated at a Zino's table, one customer was never intruded upon by another and everyone was served by a wait staff trained to move about in whispers. Dining at Zino's was the perfect antidote for a poisonous workweek and I often looked forward to a late evening there. It had snowed all day on this particular Friday right before Christmas, making the traffic out of downtown move a bit slower than usual so it was nearly 9:30 PM by the time we reached Hyde Park. Driving through the square I was quite surprised to see many shops still open in spite of the lateness of the hour. Last minute shoppers and holiday lights gave the place an unusually festive air and I felt my spirits lift as we walked along to the restaurant. It had been a truly grueling workweek and I was simply aching for a restful meal in a place where it would be easy to tune out the rest of the world. When we entered the foyer, though, I was taken aback by the drastically changed, highly charged Zino's operating under new management. Gone were the linen draped tables subdued under dimly glowing lamps and murmured conversations. Instead, we were greeted by the furor of an overly bright room crammed with diners seated at far too many tables placed close together. I wanted to turn around and run out the door, but Craig was thrilled by these exciting changes. I was too stunned and outraged to protest aloud, but inside I was seething at the ugliness of that once beautiful place. It now looked like any other overcrowded, overpriced joint in Yuppie-ville and I despised everything about it, right down to the new paper table napkins. I sulked and frowned at my menu, biting my lip and lighting a cigarette to keep from verbalizing my annoyance to the giggly waitress who came bubbling up to our table. I was far too tired and too desperately cranky to even look at the girl. I wanted the old, familiar wait staff with their cultured, soothing voices and graceful movements. So Craig ordered for both of us, much more politely than I could have managed. I just stirred my bitter cup of coffee and felt my heart grow tighter and angrier in my chest. Just as our food finally arrived, I received another nasty surprise when the hostess seated a young mother and small daughter at a table unbelievably close to ours. I was simply appalled because it was my firm opinion that no responsible parent would drag such a young child out to a restaurant at that time of night. It seemed unfair to me that anyone would demand a child of that age to behave well so far past bedtime and I was unwilling to sit there and watch a little girl get mistreated should she cry and be punished for it. I told Craig I wanted to leave immediately without eating, but he was equally insistent that we stay. So I prayed to the Lord Jesus that He would grant me some sort of grace so I would not burst into angry tears and cause a scene I might later regret. While I was still praying, some charming tone in the child's voice caught my attention and I looked up to observe them more closely. The mother was a well-dressed, attractive white woman and the little girl was a softly hued product of a biracial mix. Her complexion was creamy and clear and she looked quite sweet in her fancy dress and beribboned tiny braids. The mother and child chatted playfully together while they apparently waited to be joined by someone. Soon the Someone arrived. A tall, handsome, dark-skinned black man entered the room and I could tell by the sudden light in their faces that this indeed was Someone -- husband and Daddy and oh so Beloved. He sat down at that table and a glissando of happy chatter shimmered all around us. I ate my dinner, unabashedly eavesdropping on that adorable family. I was deeply moved by the great love they had for one another and I simply felt blessed to have been able to witness the joy they shared in each other's company. Soon I was startled by a clear prompting from the Holy Spirit to give that child a Christmas gift. At first I was puzzled about how to accomplish that task so late at night but then I remembered the square lined with still-open shops. I quickly explained to Craig what I had in mind and dashed out the door after asking him to try to stall them should they try to leave before I returned. Right next door was an inviting bookstore I had never seen open before and I scurried across the snowy parking lot to get inside before it closed. I raced to the children's department and immediately found a breathtakingly beautiful volume of poems and prayers. This oversized book was filled with exquisite illustrations and I instantly knew it was exactly the right gift for exactly the right price. Fearing the family would leave before I made the purchase, I ran up to the cashier, wanting only to slam my money down and tear back outside. In spite of my great rush, the cashier was yet another young college student working the holiday break and he was determined to do his absolutely best job, ever. Looking as though he'd be much more comfortable on a football field than in a wrapping station, he nonetheless started the arduous task of gift-wrapping the book. In spite of my increasing impatience, I quickly realized that his enthusiastic efforts with all that ribbon and tape were becoming a part of the heart of this gift. I did not need to rip the book out of his hands to finish the job more speedily myself; I needed to trust our Heavenly Father's generosity. His gift would be delivered in time. Meeting up with Craig again outside of Zino's I remained in the parking lot while he took the present to the waiting family. From my vantage point below the picture window, I could observe the parents obvious delight in their daughter. Considerate of the child's small stature and little fingers, they placed the book on the father's lap and helped her to carefully turn the very large pages. The girl clapped her hands and laughed over each new picture and I was certain the gift was a splendid success. Then that proud daddy noticed me standing outside of the window. He turned his little darling around, smoothed her pretty dress and lifted her up to show her off to us. She blew many wonderful kisses into the darkness below the window and waved her tiny hands to say "Goodnight". In the intervening years, I have often wondered why, perhaps, the Lord wanted this child - specifically - gifted with an "angel present". She did not appear to be needy in the typical sense of poor children at Christmas, yet I was certain it was His direction to gift her in this way. I've mused a time or two on the idea that maybe it was her biracial parentage which caused another sort of neediness - for validation by a stranger. Unfortunately, in our society sometimes these children are not accepted by either race, so perhaps they simply needed to hear one voice crying out in love. Truthfully, I do not know. Yet still the real questions raised by that fateful night are even more marvelous to me: Who was the true Christmas angel and which was the most precious gift? Was it I, with my offering of the beautiful book to be cherished for years to come? Or was it the child, whose kisses blown to me on the midnight air would be treasured for eternity as they touched my soul in peace, like gently falling snow? - Last edited by Merme; Dec 14th, 2008 at 03:51 PM. We were given two hands to hold, two eyes to see, two ears to listen & two legs to walk. But why were we given only one heart? The other heart was given to another for us to find.