HERE'S A CHRISTMAS STORY WORTH TELLING AGAIN AND AGAIN

Bill Taylor of Cape Girardeau received the following story from his son, Steve, in Grand Junction, Colo.,

A Christmas Gift

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Justin in a high chair and noticed everyone was eating and talking. Suddenly, Justin squealed with delight and said, "Hi there." He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair's tray. His eyes were wide with excitement, and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of Justin's merriment. It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat, dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast, and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty, and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard, and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to tell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.

"Hi there, Baby. Hi there, big boy. I see ya, Buster," the man said to Justin. My husband and I exchanged looks.

"What do we do?" our glances asked.

Justin continued to laugh and answer, "Hi there." Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby.

Our meal came, and the man began shouting from across the room. "Do ya know patty-cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo."

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence -- all except for Justin, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum who, in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.

"Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Justin," I prayed.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Justin leaned over my arm, reaching with both of his arms in a baby's pick-me-up position. Before I could stop him, Justin had propelled himself from my arms into the man's.

Suddenly, a very old, smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship. Justin, in an act of total trust, love and submission, laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands, full of grime, pain and hard labor, gently, so gently, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time.

I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Justin in his arms for the moment. Then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm, commanding voice, "You take care of this baby."

Somehow, I managed to reply "I will" from a throat that contained a stone.

The old man pried Justin from his chest -- unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain.

I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you ma'am. You've given me my Christmas gift."

I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Justin in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Justin so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me."

I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin and made no judgment, a child who saw a soul and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not. I felt it was God asking, "Are you willing to share your son for a moment?" when he shared his for all eternity.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me: "To enter the kingdom of God, we must become as little children." -- Author unknown