As we sat trapped in holiday traffic on the way to Target, surrounded by frustrated drivers, I took a moment to savor my chestnut praline latte while my friend Jessica let out a deep sigh.
“Look over there,” she pointed. “Something’s going on.”
Indeed, there was a scene unfolding at the Extended Stay motel, with police vehicles parked in a way that suggested urgency.
“That doesn’t look promising,” I commented, feeling frustration build as the lights changed and we remained stuck.
In my neighborhood, crime is rare, and police often respond to incidents with heightened sensitivity. It made it difficult to assess whether the gathering of officers indicated something serious or just a minor disturbance.
Then I spotted him—a tall, sturdy man in the midst of the flashing lights. He cradled a wide-eyed toddler in his arms while clenching a trash bag filled with clothes.
“Oh no,” I whispered to myself.
Having previously managed subsidized housing, I was all too familiar with the heartbreak of evictions. I’ve witnessed families being forcibly removed, filled with desperation, anger, and sorrow—yet this scene struck me harder than most.
This father stood there, devoid of tears or shouts. He accepted his reality with a vacant stare, while the Christmas tunes and festive shoppers passed by obliviously. The little girl nestled her head against his chest, trusting that her father would somehow make everything alright.
As the traffic finally moved, I turned away from the painful sight, desperate to return to my Christmas preparations—shopping, decorating, mailing cards. Yet a heavy cloud settled in my heart, burdened by the image of a father who had reached his breaking point while the world around him buzzed with holiday cheer.
I felt a pang of guilt, realizing how cruel it must be to face such despair during a season meant for joy. The weight of witnessing that father’s quiet resignation filled me with regret; it felt unbearable to think I had no space in my life to help them.
I spent the next several days attempting to locate the family, though I had little to offer. I didn’t know what I would say if I found them, and often, those who are homeless are difficult to track down.
Nearly a week later, I still pray for them every night, hoping to transform my feelings of helplessness into meaningful action. I plan to enjoy the festivities, but I also aspire to embody the true spirit of Christmas by extending my kindness to those less fortunate. I want to open my heart and resources to those in need, and I pray that I can recognize opportunities to help without being hindered by fear or pride.
Above all, I wish to ensure that the “No Vacancy” sign in my heart is permanently turned off. If I do not make room for those in need, I find myself resembling the Innkeeper in the nativity story—an outcome I wish to avoid.
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Summary:
This Christmas, I was struck by the stark contrast between festive celebrations and the harsh reality of those less fortunate. Witnessing a father and daughter facing eviction reminded me of the importance of compassion and action. I hope to open my heart and resources to help others in need, ensuring that I am not like the Innkeeper who turned away those seeking shelter.