“The poor you will always have with you.”  –  Matthew 26:11a

 

‘Twas the day after the day after Christmas…

Ordinarily, I would be ruminating over the things I’ve done poorly. The dish that wasn’t flavorful enough, or overcooked, or undercooked, or perfectly prepared but forgotten on the counter when we finally got out the door 15-minutes late to visit family.

Ordinarily, on the day after Christmas, I would be mentally fixing every mistake I’d made (after properly shaming myself and then shaming myself for shaming myself because a Christian should know better) with plans for how I would start earlier, and plan and prepare better, next year.

This year is different. This year on the day after Christmas (which turned into two days after Christmas by the time I finished this blog post), I pondered a verse that kept me company this holiday season.

“The poor you will always have with you.” 

This year I considered what it means to be the poor.

Not in a Dickensian way.

More of a Goudgeian way.

I considered the ways I struggle over my own “poor” ness. Being a poor gift chooser and buyer, a poor home and time organizer, a poor card giver and follow-upper on my big plans to do Christmas RIGHT this time. And I thought of that verse in a different way.

What if I am the poor?

I’ve experienced that financially in the past and I didn’t want to be there. And I don’t want to be the “poor” when it comes to my performance as a giver or doer either. It struck me that probably no one wants to be the poor.

Yet, despite our efforts, the poor will always be with us–and sometimes, they are us.

This is where Elizabeth Goudge’s stories jumped into the conversation. God reminded me that some of my favorite characters in my favorite books wrestled with this very thing and, eventually, surrendered to being “poor.”

The ones I love best are often secondary characters who are…

Poor in skills

Poor in attractiveness

Poor in mental health

Poor in youth and energy

Poor in character

(Two of my favorite examples are Miss Montague in The Dean’s Watch and the ugly little monk in The Scent of Water.)

And I think this might be a piece of the puzzle in my writing life, for it seems I tend to write characters who are poor in one way or another. People who eventually surrender to the sense that they are overlooked or even despised (often by themselves) because of their poor showing in one area or another. They eventually give up on the hope of fixing their poverty with better ideas or greater effort. Give up on the dream of someone coming along who will make them feel valuable. Give up on the idea of greater self-esteem being the solution. They surrender and come to God in their true and authentic unimproved state and simply let Him take over to do what He will.

And that, in my opinion, is where stories really get good.

 

These after-Christmas days tend to grant a bit of extra reading time for many of us, so, in the spirit of a poor giver who often shows up a little late with her gifts, I’d like to pass along three encouraging and inspiring pocket-sized stories. I got to read them in the days leading up to Christmas and I pray you might let yourself curl up on the sofa, or next to the fire, or perhaps linger in bed for a few extra minutes and snack on these literary treats.

First, a true story written to me in an email conversation with Stephen Paschall, a man who found my business card on his desk at home and liked my tagline of “all our little stories.” We still can’t figure out how my card ended up on his desk, but with his permission, I’m happy to share his little story with you!

 

Love at the Stationary Store

I dropped my wife off at a nail salon in Temecula and went to Staples nearby to get some printing done. A short, middle aged, plump, crippled black lady was in line in front of me, with fat, grey dreadlocks, nothing attractive about her whatsoever. As I stood quietly behind her, suddenly I was overwhelmed by compassion for her, so I said, “Good morning, ma’am.” Somewhat surprised, she said, “Well good morning to you too.”

I said “I feel that the Lord wanted me to tell you and show you how much he cares about you, and with your permission, I’d like to give you a hug straight from Him.”

She said, “Oh, I would love that!”

So I gave her a big, firm hug, properly from the side, in front of the cashier.

She began to cry and said “My only daughter died of Covid 2 years ago and I am left raising her children and I can barely get around. I was asking the Lord this morning to show me that He cared. You are from Him!” and poked me in the chest with her finger.

We all teared up, including the cashier, who saw it all go down.

The woman went to pay for her order and could only come up with her library card as she accidentally left her credit card at home. I told the cashier to put her charges on my card.

The lady’s name was Trudy and she said, “Could I please give you one more hug?”

So we did and the cashier drastically reduced the cost of my order.

Being overwhelmed with compassion from the Lord is such a good thing!

He has changed everything!

 

Love Around the Broken Table

This next one, How to Rejoice at Christmas When Family Feels Tender, is from Ann Voskamp’s blog. She published it before Christmas, but I think it’s a good one to ponder after the tinsel settles. If you are carrying some hurt or disappointment over the people who shared your table this year (or some you didn’t see because you couldn’t bear to share the table with them), her poetic words about messed up families may be just the balm to treat those wounds.

 

Love Song

And finally, this lovely little tale about a song looking for a way to get out in the world. My friend Joanna Kenyon never fails to remind me why I’ve loved stories since I was a child with her lyrical words and beautiful hand drawings. I do hope you’ll give yourself a three-minute treat with this one!

 

Merry After-Christmas, everyone!

 

P.S. If you have another extra few minutes, I’d love to hear about the stories that touched your heart this Christmas. Please comment below if you have any you’d like to share.