The Least of These

There was a stranger in our Sunday congregation several weeks before Christmas.  Soon after fast and testimony meeting began, the stranger made his way to the pulpit and revealed that he was an ex-convict.  The man described how he felt he had been wronged by several members of our congregation, singling them out by name.  The spirit in our meeting became very contentious as people got up and walked out, and the man ignored the Bishop when he was asked to sit down.  The children were intrigued by this strange person and the unusual feeling they noticed in church that day.  When they asked about the stranger, we explained that it was likely the man didn’t have many friends.  We tried to help them understand that the stranger, whose name we learned was John, was still a child of God, and that Jesus loved him and expected us to love him too.  We didn’t see much of John after that, and soon we were immersed in the busy excitement of the holiday season.

It was just a few days before Christmas when I was making breadsticks to take to another holiday party.  I had some dough left over and decided to make cinnamon loaves to have on hand for those dreaded last minute gifters that I hadn’t planned for.  The next day was the Saturday before Christmas, and I still had a few cinnamon loaves left.  I asked my family if they could think of anyone that might enjoy some cinnamon bread for Christmas.  My eight-year-old daughter answered, “We should take some to John.”

My husband and I exchanged wide-eyed glances.  John didn’t exactly find his way on to our Christmas gift list.  “Ok”, I replied.  “We can take one to John.”

John lives in a small compound that resembles a junkyard.  It is surrounded by fences with locked gates and “No Trespassing” signs.  As we pulled up to deliver our gift, our daughter nervously asked, “Mom, can you come to the door with me?”

“If he comes to the door, do not go in,” warned my husband.

I walked up the narrow, muddy driveway with my three-year-old and my daughter, trying to find a way to the door.  We found an unlocked gate and carefully made our way across the ice to the door.  All the lights were on in John’s small, run-down house.  I reached through the broken screen and knocked on the door.  We waited, but there was no answer.  “His truck is here,” noted my daughter.  We knocked again.  There was still no answer.  I worried about leaving the bread because there were several animal kennels with food surrounding the small concrete landing we were waiting on, but since John wasn’t answering,  I balanced the bread between the broken screen and the door and we made our way back to the car.

The story ends there.  No big happy ending.  The significance of this story lies in the change made in my heart.  It was true that I had told my children that Jesus expected us to love John, but I certainly wasn’t prepared to take any action.  However, as we left John’s house that cold Saturday night, I was so touched by my daughter’s childlike faith and example.  She truly saw John for who he was: another one of God’s children who needed a friend, who needed to be loved.  I turned off the Christmas music playing on the radio on our drive home and thanked my daughter for suggesting that we take bread to John.  As we talked about it as a family, we realized that we hadn’t seen any signs of Christmas at all while we were there.  We discussed the likelihood that our small gift may be one of the only things that John would receive, maybe even his entire Christmas all together. 

It is easy for me to say that people like John don’t really deserve a merry Christmas.  He doesn’t deserve friends, kindness, help, or gifts.  But I was reminded that night by our small gesture and through the Holy Ghost that the Savior truly does love each of us, whether we deserve it or not.  I felt a keen sense of gratitude for His love in my life, as undeserving as I am.  I felt an overwhelming desire to become more like Him and to serve more of His children who most often fall by the wayside.  I became aware that these are the exact people that the Savior spent time with while He was on the earth, and the substance of His sermons that I have studied, understood, but not yet fully lived.  I am pretty certain that a small loaf of cinnamon bread will not make a difference in John’s life, but I am forever grateful for the change it brought in mine. 

And the next day, we saw John at church.