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My
Christmas
Discovery
By
Norman Vincent Peale
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 ome
of my most impressionable years were spent in Cincinnati. I
still remember the huge Christmas tree in Fountain Square—the
gleaming decorations, the streets ringing with the sound of
carols. Up on East Liberty Street where we lived, my mother
always had a Christmas tree with real candles on it, magical
candles which, combined with the fir tree, gave off a forest
aroma, unique and unforgettable.
One Christmas Eve when I was 12,
I was out with my minister father doing some late Christmas
shopping. He had me loaded down with packages and I was tired
and cross. I was thinking how good it would be to get home when
a beggar—a bleary-eyed, unshaven, dirty old man—came
up to me, touched my arm with a hand like a claw, and asked
for money. He was so repulsive that instinctively I recoiled.
Softly my father said, “Norman,
it's Christmas Eve. You |
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shouldn't
treat a man that way.”
I was unrepentant. “Dad,”
I said, “he's nothing but a bum.”
My father stopped. “Maybe he hasn't made much of himself,
but he's still a child of God.” He then handed me a dollar—a
lot of money for those days and for a preacher's income. “I
want you to take this and give it to that man,” he said.
“Speak to him respectfully. Tell him you are giving it
to him in Christ's name.”
“Oh, Dad!” I protested.
“I can't do anything like that.”
My father's voice was firm. “Go and do as I tell you.”
So, reluctant and resisting, I
ran after the old man and said, “Excuse me, sir. I give
you this money in the name of Christ.”
He stared at the dollar bill,
then looked at me in utter amazement. A wonderful smile came
to his face, a smile so full of life and beauty that I forgot
that he was dirty and unshaven. I forgot that he was ragged
and old. With a gesture that was almost courtly, he took off
his hat. Graciously he said, “And I thank you, young sir,
in the name of Christ.” |
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All
my irritation, all my annoyance faded away. The street, the
houses, everything around me suddenly seemed beautiful because
I had been part of a miracle that I have seen many times since—the
transformation that comes over people when you think of them
as children of God, when you offer them love in the name of
a Baby born two thousand years ago in a stable in Bethlehem,
a Person who still lives and walks with us and makes His presence
known.
That was my Christmas discovery
that year—the gold of human dignity that lies hidden in
every living soul, waiting to shine through if only we'll give
it a chance. |
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 If
you're too busy to heed the cry of those in need, you're
busier than God Himself!
Pity
just feels sorry. Compassion does something about it!
The compassionate put feet to their prayers and kind
deeds to their words.
Remember,
love never fails—because God is Love, and it is
impossible for Him to fail!
—David
Brandt Berg
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