The Beggar Man's Window

My mother used to tell me all about the beggars I would pass on the street. She would say that they were crazy, or that they must have done something stupid to get themselves into a situation like that. According to her, the American public was already being taxed large amounts of money every year to provide aid to the poor and the homeless, so I could never be sure if the spare change they asked for would actually be used for necessities. So I was taught that whenever I was approached by one of them with a request for money for food or medicine or whatever, I should just say, "I'm sorry, no." and walk away quickly.

There were more beggars than ever during the Christmas holidays. It was a time when professional organizations took their generosity out of mothballs and recruited people to find some way to attract attention while taking donations for one cause or another. Christmas was always a solid reason to dig a little deeper into one's pockets.

During one of those Christmases, I was doing the last of my holiday shopping when, after exiting the local mall, walking to the spot where I left my car, I was approached in the parking lot by someone who I could tell was a panhandler at the first glance. An older man with a long, white beard, he was dressed in fraying clothes and a worn-out hat, neither of which had any chance of protecting him from the freezing winds and falling snow. He came up to me directly and tapped me on the shoulder, so there was no way of avoiding him, and I had to look at him face-to-face. I felt defensive, ready to yell for help in case of attack.

"Ma'am...excuse me, young lady?" He stood right in front of me so that I had full view of his face. The look of it somewhat disturbed me. From his general appearance, I knew for certain that there was no way he could have recently washed his face or trimmed his beard, and from the way his breath smelled I could tell that it had been some time since he had used a toothbrush.

"Can I help you?" I figured that there was a chance he could be lost.

"Yes, miss. I'm sorry that I have to ask you, but tonight is Christmas Eve, and I really need five dollars to buy myself some dinner. Could you spare it, please?" The request sounded very heartfelt and genuine, but all the warnings my mother taught me echoed in my brain as I looked at this poor man, and for a moment was unable to respond. Finally I spoke.

"I...I can't talk to strangers." I could barely get the words out.

"Oh, we're not strangers."

"Excuse me?" I was a little scared.

"What I mean is that I've seen you around here before. This mall is one of the few places where I can stay without being forcibly removed."

"Oh."

"I realize that it's hard to trust a person like me, but you can believe what I say. I wouldn't hurt anybody." All of a sudden, I could see something in that man's face, a certain sincerity that I could believe and respond to. An idea started to form.

"Do you have any place where you could spend the night?" I asked him.

"No, I'm afraid I don't." From the way he spoke, I could tell that his situation was hopeless.

"Well, my church is hosting a Christmas dinner and lodging for the homeless at the local mission, which is not that far from here. Would you like me to show you the way?"

"Oh yes, please, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

After storing my newly bought purchases in my car, we walked the short distance together through a landscape covered in snow, with the cold winds briskly blowing about our bodies. On the way, we discussed his situation, and I found out a few things. His name was Chris, and he had been on the streets ever since his toy manufacturing business went bankrupt a few years ago. He had traveled all over the world, but considered his home to be a retreat that he had built himself, deep within the heart of the Arctic wilderness, where he could escape from the pressures of everyday life. While listening to stories all about his work and experiences, I was able to get past his physical appearance and see the personality underneath. I found him to be a very nice man who deserved a fair break, especially on Christmas.

When we reached the mission, and I took him inside, we were met by my local minister, who invited me to stay for a while and help distribute the food. He was a good friend of mine, and I did have a few hours to spare, so I decided to accept his offer.

Before that night, I was always somewhat aware of the plight of the homeless, but in the short time I spent behind the food counter handing out fried chicken and mashed potatoes, I saw things that there was no way I could have encountered in the life that I led. Hungry children with big eyes soberly ate their meals while sitting next to people who I guessed were their parents, who were possibly worrying about what was going to happen to them for the rest of the year. There were also people without families who had given up on life altogether. They depended on this holiday to keep them from starving. Everyone contained inside the walls of that mission had blended into a poverty-stricken assembly of filth and despair.

When just about everybody had finished eating, my minister came into the middle of the room to be in full view, and called out for attention. I had lost Chris somewhere among the mass of crowded people.

"Everybody? Everybody please listen to me?" The noise I was hearing from all the people talking and eating turned to silence.

"Everyone, we have a special treat among us. As tonight is Christmas Eve, I would like to take this time to introduce our one, very own, Santa Claus!"

Starting from the back entrance to the dining area, the crowd parted to reveal a reasonable facsimile of the red-suited and white-bearded old man we all knew as Saint Nicholas. But upon further inspection of this man's facial structure and the animation of the eyes set within it, I recognized him to be Chris, the beggar man who had approached me in the parking lot.

"Hello, kids!" he spoke to the children who had clustered around him in a circle. "Have you all been good boys and girls this year?"

"Yes!" they all answered him in strong, confident voices.

"Then come and see what I have for you." he said, reaching behind his right shoulder in order to bring forth a large, red satin bag trimmed with white fur.

The kids were on him in a second.

As I spent the next hour and a half looking at the joy on those poor children's faces while they were being handed presents by their Santa Claus, I was led to seriously contemplate the needs of humanity. I realized that Christmas was not just about buying presents and trimming trees. It was meant to encourage the members of the human race to be generous, and exercise good will towards each other. I resolved to talk to my mother about this, and try to explain to her that when one person puts away their humility to ask another for charity, it can only come from their heart.

Later, while saying goodbye, I found out that the Santa Claus who was supposed to be there became unavailable, and that Chris had volunteered to fill in at the last minute. Chris told me himself that he liked helping out with the kids so much, he was planning on finding work as a Santa Claus. He thanked me again and again for taking a chance on him, and not just walking by like all the other people did.

I drove home that night with the Christmas present I never knew I wanted. The beggar man had given me a window, into which I could look through poverty and see the hearts of those affected by it. I learned that a person should be evaluated according to their inner beauty, not by the way they look on the outside.

And ever since then, whenever I thought about Chris, I remembered him as more than just a beggar. I was reminded of the real spirit of Christmas.