[At Christmas time every year, my wife and I will trade turns reading a Christmas story to each other each night from Thanksgiving night through New Year's. We have a collection of several Christmas-themed books filled with short stories. This year, as a gift for my wonderful wife, I wrote my own Christmas story. For us, it's a story of hope, and based a little on childhood experiences of singing Christmas carols in a nursing home near the church where I grew up.]

Thomas Buchanan's Last Christmas

In a fluorescent lit room with faint gray walls, Thomas Buchanan sat staring out his lone window. The outside cold crept through some invisible cracks in the pane. Amidst the asphalt and scattered cars in the employee parking were strewn only a few trees and patchy grass upon which to gaze. But there he sat, and there he watched what little life he had left go by.

There was bingo in the recreation room, just like there was every Tuesday afternoon. Baked chicken and steamed broccoli grew cold on Mr. Buchanan's untouched plate, also like every Tuesday. A talk show droned on the television, Mr. Buchanan's excuse for staying in his room.

The staff at Shady Acres was pleasant enough. Miss Alita genuinely cared for all the residents in her charge. She responsibly checked on each one, dispensed meds, and encouraged their activities. But she wasn't their mother, not their babysitter. She didn't tell Mr. Buchanan what to do. No one did. No one could.

Today seemed like yesterday, like everyday. Only the afternoon activities and plated food changed from day to day, or the sparse decorations that littered the hallways indicating the changes of the seasons. But nothing ever seemed to change much. Yet today would be different. It was Christmas Eve, and a choir from Miss Alita's church would be by that night to sing Christmas carols.

"Good afternoon Mr. Buchanan!" chimed Miss Alita. "Merry Christmas!"

"What's merry about it?" he replied. It wasn't said in anger. It wasn't said in fun. This had become Mr. Buchanan's standard reply. By now he might not have even known he said anything at all.

"Well, I love this time of year. I get to celebrate my Lord's birth," replied Miss Alita. She had often shared her life with her people, as she affectionately called the residents, but had to be careful to respect their differences. As an employee of Shady Acres, there was a line she couldn't cross. Oh, but she could dance on it quite well, and she knew how to pray.

"Anyway, we have some visitors coming tonight. Some folks from my church are coming to sing Christmas, I mean holiday carols."

"Why?" scoffed the old man, "so they can feel good about themselves? No thanks. I'm fine," Mr. Buchanan grunted. Miss Alita had known Mr. Buchanan for ten years now, and she knew he'd decline an invitation to join their party, same as last year. She knew he'd answer gruffly, but she had also learned that he was only bark. Oddly, this gave her hope that his rough exterior was only a front, and that on some level she was reaching him.

"Suit yourself," she smiled. "I can see you didn't touch your lunch today."

"I'm just waiting for dinner. I hear we're having turkey with dressing, for something different," he answered. Miss Alita collected the food tray and bid Mr. Buchanan farewell. He resumed gazing out his window.

Early after dinner, the atmosphere began to change. Excited residents hurried to the rec room with light hearted spirits. Christmas carolers had arrived! Mr. Buchanan stared out his window as the evening news played on TV.

          "Hark the herald angels sing
          Glory to the newborn king!"

Angelic voices carried down the halls, as did some off-tune and tone deaf voices from merry seniors. Mr. Buchanan feigned wanting none of this, yet his room door remained open.

          "Peace on earth and mercy mild
          God and sinners reconciled."

He stared outside, pretending not to listen and not to care. Not much ever seemed to move the old man. He kept to himself, kept guarded; even put up a good defense to keep from getting too close to anyone.

          "Joyful all ye nations rise
          Join the triumph of the skies
          With Angelic host proclaim
          Christ is born in Bethlehem

Down the hall the recreation room was filled with wheelchairs, walkers and canes, and the pleasant faces of grandparents and great grandparents whose hearts and faces were alive with singing. Of course not everyone shared Mr. Buchanan's disdain. It is the indomitable strength of the human spirit to make the best of misfortune, to hope where there seems none, to brave against the winds of pain.

          "Hark! The herald angels sing
          Glory to the newborn king."

Blessed sounds of faith, hope and joy lifted heavenward. The carolers themselves were enthused by their audience. Peace on earth, which angels foretold, rested upon this small group of kindred spirits. But down the hall Thomas Buchanan sat unmoved. Whenever life's emotions surfaced, he steeled his heart to defend against pain.

Mr. Buchanan had good reason to harden his heart. Birthdays and holidays were a constant reminder that Thomas's birth caused his mother's death 82 Christmas seasons ago. At the age of 13, during one of those fights when Thomas actually fought back, Tom's dad said he wasn't welcomed anymore. Truth was Thomas had never been welcomed. So he cut his teeth on the mean streets, never relied on anyone else, and became the epitome of a self-made man. Of course he married, because that was the thing to do, but Mr. Buchanan's first devotion was to his work. His marriage lasted 27 hopeless years. Now long retired and in poor health, Mr. Buchanan had little to show for his life on earth. But he never needed charity, and didn't want it now.

After some time, the group of carolers moved out of the recreation room and down the sorted halls of the nursing home, to visit residents unable to stir from their beds. Carolers would split off to visit different rooms, and then regroup in various corners of the home to sing their Christmas greetings.

"Merry Christmas!" rang loud a visitor who intruded Mr. Buchanan's open doorway.

"What's merry about it?" retorted Mr. Buchanan, which he followed by a laugh that came out as both a wheeze and a gasp. The very sound must have made his visitor cringe inside, but she was careful not to let that surface on her compassionate countenance.

"Hi, I'm Lenore, how are you doing this evening?" she asked, tactfully sidestepping the crusty old man's challenge.

"I'm glad you asked," coughed out Mr. Buchanan. "My back goes out more often than I do, not quite as much as my bladder gets full, and still works better than my eyes and ears. My lungs are worthless. I'm tired. I'm in pain. And I'm alone." Mr. Buchanan anticipated such conversations, and had his ready reply available.

"Well, then may I pray with you?"

Mr. Buchanan actually expected the visitor to say something like, "I'm sorry." He was prepared for such an answer. He was ready to release his diatribe about how everyone is sorry, and yet it's no one's fault. But he was most certainly caught off guard.

He made no reply, and Lenore began to pray. "Father in heaven, I thank You for Your grace and blessings in our lives. I thank You that You loved us so much that You sent Your Son Jesus to be our Savior, so that we can be Your children. I pray for my brother here that You would touch his heart and let him know the peace only You can bring. Let him know how much You love him, and welcome him. Minister to his body now, I pray, and give him comfort and rest. I pray for these blessings in the name of my Savior Jesus Christ. Amen."

"Thank you," was all that Mr. Buchanan could manage. Lenore wished him well, and was quickly gone to the next room or the next corner to rejoin the other Christmas angels. Mr. Buchanan pondered her prayer. Love and welcome were merely concepts, but he knew he wanted them, whatever they were.

Down another hall, the choir began to sing again:

          Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
          Let earth receive her King
          Let every heart prepare Him room

These words spoke to and even haunted Mr. Buchanan. But he fought them off. No one had ever prepared any room for him. No one gave him anything, he convinced himself. He never needed God before, and sure didn't need him now.

Angrily, Mr. Buchanan turned once more to the window. He preferred the idea that you are who you want to be. No one takes care of you. No one looks out for you but yourself alone. That's what his father taught him, and it's all he ever knew. He took care of himself these many years. That was that.

Sure, sometimes he'd play with thoughts about being cared for. But it always came back around to why? Why would anyone look out for anyone else? Why should they? And who would ever sacrifice themselves to save someone else, "To save me?" Mr. Buchanan questioned out loud.

Comfortable with the concept that it didn't matter who was looking out for him, Mr. Buchanan eased back into his chair. "Merry Christmas!" sang out the spirited voice of a seven year old boy, interrupting Mr. Buchanan's world again.

"What's merry about it?" automated Mr. Buchanan. The words were out before he could stop them. He hadn't meant to be harsh to such a young child. It's just what he always replied.

"It's Jesus birthday," answered the little boy. "Jesus is God's son who God sent as a gift to us so that we could be saved and have ever lasting life."

"Is that a fact?" was all Mr. Buchanan could reply.

"Yes, because God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."

"Now why would he do that?" answered the old man. This boy might as well learn now, he thought.

"Because God loves us. He loves me and He loves you. He doesn't want us to be alone, and He wants us to be His children," said the boy. "And because of what we done wrong, Jesus died for our sins. That's why you ask Jesus to be in your heart, so that you can live forever with him."

"What's your name, son."

"Tommy!" the boy replied.

"Tommy, that sounds very nice," Mr. Buchanan said politely.

"Merry Christmas!" the boy exclaimed once again.

"Merry Christmas!" said Mr. Buchanan, and the boy was off to visit other residents.

Long after the carolers had left, Mr. Buchanan sat where he always sat, staring out the same old window. It didn't all make sense to him. He took care of himself, not his father, not God. No one mattered to him and he mattered to no one. But he couldn't escape the idea that God loved him. He didn't know much about love, except that he wanted it. He knew there was something missing in his life from childhood, but that he could get along without it. Was that by choice? Did he have to get along without it? Did he have to be alone? Did he want to?

"Maybe it's time I make my peace with God," he thought to himself. Why not, what could it hurt?

"Hey God, it's Thomas Buchanan. Well, I guess you know who I am. You keep sending these people to me to get my attention. Okay, you've got it. But look God, I've been a good person." He laughed to himself, then used his fingers to make quotes in the air as he spoke. "Yeah, I've been a good person. What does that mean anymore? A good person? I'm not a thief. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a politician." He laughed and coughed again to himself.

"Okay God, I don't know any more what it means to be a good person. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I just know that for 82 years I've been alone. I've been unloved. I've pushed others away to keep from hurting me. But every time I try to push you away, you keep telling me somehow that you love me. God, I don't know why. Then you send me Tommy, someone with my own name's sake, to tell me that Jesus died for my sins, and wants to be in my heart. I ask why, over and over again, and you just say because you love me."

"I'm tired of not being loved. I'm tired of fighting. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I'm ready to love you and be loved by you. I want to accept you into my life."

Overwhelming peace and hope filled the room. For the first time in his life, Mr. Buchanan felt vulnerable and safe at the same time. By letting go, he felt more assurance than ever. The long night was soon morning, and in the depths of sorrow and joy, the old man finally found salvation. And finally, all seemed right with the world.

Mr. Buchanan eventually closed his eyes and slipped off into sleep, still sitting in his chair by the window. In the stillness of the morning, Mr. Buchanan took his last breath and passed quietly from this life into the next.

A light that seems to come from everywhere shines upon a golden path. A fresh breeze and fragrant aroma fills the air. A warmth and even tangible joy rests upon Thomas Buchanan's face. Before him stands his Savior with his arms open wide, "Thomas, welcome home!"

P.S. In the morning, some wept for Mr. Buchanan. Miss Alita felt the most hurt, and God somehow gave her a sense of peace. There will come a day in eternity when faith turns to knowledge, and all will rejoice.