"UNTO THE LEAST"

BY Aimee Davis

The hustle and bustle of Christmas,

The rush of the season at hand,

Peddlers at every street corner,

Selling the wares of their stands.

This one last chance to buy,

And all were hurrying on,

For it was Christmas Eve,

Not long before dawn.

The cold didn’t seem to object them,

Each hurried along their way,

Not one soul stopping to notice,

Not one kind thing to say.

She carried her life in a basket,

Bits and pieces found left for naught,

And she puzzled at this a "Great Season"

"It’s not so great," she thought.

Instead what she found was appalling,

Was there really no one who cared?

In these masses of people around her,

Could not one find something to share?

She reached far back in her mind,

Trying hard to recall time less bleak,

The memories she sought were so vague now,

Then she thought she heard someone speak.

"Elisabeth, come sit beside me,"

She remembered her mother’s kind words,

"And we’ll read of that first Christmas morning"

In her voice, all her love could be heard.

The word of the story had faded,

But the feelings she felt had been good,

There was hope and love and glory,

And people who cared, as they should.

There was something about an angel,

And shepherds and wise men of old,

And a tiny child in a manger,

Whom they worshipped with gifts of gold.

The child in the manger was Jesus,

And his birth brought peace to all,

"Then why," Elisabeth wondered

"Does he not hear me now when I call."

The trials that life had sent her,

Made these memories seem distant and old,

She could barely remember the good times,

Her life here and now seemed so cold.

What once had been so cheerful,

Filled her heart with sorrow and fear,

She longed for those times long ago,

For the places and people held dear.

She raised her head to the heavens,

And sighed on least prayer for relief,

That he whom this season was praising,

Could comfort her soul torn with grief.

Then she picked up her basket of belongings,

Made her way through the crowds all around,

And headed through the city,

Hoping that warmth could be found.

As she stumbled along she noticed

A man who was crippled and cold,

And in his hand a cup,

He tried so hard to hold.

She gazed into his eyes,

Filled with sorrow she could understand,

From her bag she took her last dollar,

And placed it in the cup in his hand.

His eyes seemed to change for a moment,

Perhaps he felt too much to speak.

No words were exchanged between them,

But the man brushed a tear from his cheek.

She continued on through the evening,

The cold never leaving her bones,

Then from around the corner,

She heard someone softly moan.

"Please help me," she heard the woman,

"My child and I need food,

We are cold and alone and hungry,

And our cries seem to do no good."

Once again the pain of this season,

Made Elisabeth wonder inside.

She didn’t have much to offer,

But a little as it was, she tried.

She reached into her basket,

She found there her last crust of bread,

She stretched forth her hand with the offering

"God bless you," the woman said.

Then moving her feeble body,

Elisabeth carried on,

Still numb, tired, and hungry,

She walked ‘til nearly dawn.

When it seemed she could go no