Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife

had passed away. He had no decorations, no tree, no

lights. It was just another day to him.

He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason

to celebrate. There were no children in his life.

His wife had gone.

He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been

falling for the last hour and wondering what it was

all about when the door opened and a homeless man

stepped through. Instead of throwing the man out,

George, Old George as he was known by his customers,

told the man to come and sit by the space heater and

warm-up.

"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the

stranger. "I see you're busy. I'll just go."

"Not without something hot in your belly," George said

as he turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and

handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's

hot and tasty. Stew. Made it myself. When you're

done there's coffee, and it's fresh."

Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the

driveway bell. "Excuse me, be right back," George

said.

There in the driveway was an old 53 Chevy. Steam was

rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked.

"Mister can you help me?" asked the driver with a deep

Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is

broken."

George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked

cracked from the cold -- the car was dead. "You ain't

going in this thing," George said as he turned away.

"But mister. Please help..."

The door of the office closed behind George as he went

in. George went to the office wall and got the keys to

his old truck, and went back outside. He walked

around the building and opened the garage, started the

truck and drove it around to where the couple was

waiting.

"Here, you can borrow my truck," he said. "She ain't

the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real

good."

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched

as it sped off into the night. George turned and

walked back inside the office.

"Glad I loaned 'em the truck. Their tires were shot

too. That 'ol truck has brand new tires..." George

thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man

had gone. The thermos was on the desk, empty with a

used coffee cup beside it.

"Well, at least he got something in his belly," George

thought. George went back outside to see if the old

Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started.

He pulled it into the garage where the truck had

been. He thought he would tinker with it for

something to do.

Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the

block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on

the radiator. "Well, I can fix this," he said to

himself. So he put a new one on.

"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter

either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's

old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't going

to drive the car.

As he was working he heard a shot being fired. He ran

outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the

cold ground bleeding from the left shoulder. The

officer moaned, "Help me."

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the

training he had received in the Army as a medic. He

knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop

the bleeding," he thought. The laundry company had

been there that morning and had left clean shop

towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the

wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he

said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was

the pills he used for his back. "These ought to

work."

He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the

pills. "You hang in there. I'm going to get you an

ambulance," George said, but the phone was dead."

Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk

box out in your police car."

He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into

the dashboard destroying the two way radio. He went

back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks,"

said the officer. "You could have left me there. The

guy that shot me is still in the area."

George sat down beside him. "I would never leave an

injured man in the Army, and I ain't gonna leave you."

George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding.

"Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right

through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff

though. I think with time your gonna be right as

rain."

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you

take it?" he asked. "None for me," said the officer.

"Oh, 'yer gonna drink this. Best in the city." Then

George added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts."

The officer laughed and winced at the same time. The

front door of the office flew open. In burst a young

man with a gun.

"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man

yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell

that he had never done anything like this before.

"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.

"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George. "You

need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get

hurt."

The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll

shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!"

The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing

away," George said to the cop. "We got one too many

in here now."

He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's

Christmas Eve. If you need the money, well then,

here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that

pea shooter away."

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to

the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at

the same time. The young man released his grip on the

gun, fell to his knees and began to cry.

"I'm not very good at this, am I. All I wanted was to

buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've

lost my job. My rent is due. My car got repossessed

last week."

George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in

a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard

sometimes, but we make it through the best we can."

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on

a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid

things."

George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being

stupid is one of the things that makes us human.

Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit

there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to

the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm

sorry officer."

"Shut up and drink your coffee," the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A

police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two

cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You

ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you

find me?" "GPS locator in the car. Best thing since

sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as

he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off

into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each

other. "That guy works here," the wounded cop

continued.

"Yep," George said. "Just hired him this morning.

Boy lost his job."

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the

stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop

and whispered, "Why?" Chuck just said, "Merry

Christmas, boy. And you too, George. And thanks for

everything."

"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there.

That ought to solve some of your problems." George

went into the back room and came out with a box. He

pulled out a ring box.

"Here you go. Something for the little woman. I

don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come

in handy someday."

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond

ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young

man. "It means something to you."

"And now it means something to you," replied George.

"I got my memories. That's all I need."

George reached into the box again. A toy airplane, a

racing car and a little metal truck appeared next.

They were toys that the oil company had left for him

to sell. "Here's something for that little man of

yours."

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the

$150 that the old man had handed him earlier. "And

what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with?

You keep that, too. Count it as part of your first

week's pay," George said. "Now 'git home to your

family."

The young man turned with tears streaming down his

face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that

job offer is still

good."

"Nope. I'm closed Christmas Day," George said. "See

'ya the day after."

George turned around to find that the stranger had

returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you

left?"

"I have been here. I have always been here," said the

stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas.

Why?"

"Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't see

what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all

seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies

like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by

myself and besides I was getting a little chubby."

The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But

you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me

food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and

hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he

will become a great doctor. The policeman you helped

will go on to save 19 people from being killed by

terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will

become a rich man and share his wealth with many

people. That is the spirit of the season and you keep

it as good as any man."

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said.

"And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.

"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this

sort of thing. And when your days are done you will

be with Martha again." The stranger moved toward the

door.

"If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I

have to go home where there is a big celebration

planned."

George watched as the man's old leather jacket and his

torn pants turned into a white robe. A golden light

began to fill the room. "You see, George, it's My

birthday. Merry Christmas."

Author Unknown