Christmas Eve Eyes

It's a cold, December 24th, and our family heads to downtown Seattle, to the Armory.  The children are bundled with just their sweet faces showing and all the excitement of Christmas upon them, and as we walk past the fountain blaring classical music to the musings of those around, my heart smiles.  So many happy memories from my childhood flood my mind.

We enter the Armory, formerly the Seattle Center, and the smell of kettle corn and hot chocolate infuses my nose, the small model trains run in the distance, and my mouth forms a smile.  Less than a second later, my eyes dance around the euphoric room and land on a man huddling in a corner with a hood over his head, inside from the freezing elements outside.  My heart was sad, but I walk on.  I don't get more than two steps before realizing...THIS IS CHRISTMAS EVE!

Alone.
Cold.

That's not how Christmas Eve should be....or any day of the year.

I keep thinking about this scene, but I soon become distracted by keeping track of the children that I forget.  The kids run over to one side of the train rails to peer in and I pass a few tables of families, laughing, eating and talking...and then one table catches my eye.

A man sitting alone, with his eyes closed and his worn, gray hoodie pulled as far over his head and face as possible.  I look around and wait to see if someone, anyone, is coming to sit with him.  No one.  All alone.  Christmas Eve.  I can't look away.  My heart breaks.  I'm sure his story, if told, would provide a window into his soul and the reason his feet are planted at this time, at this place.  I wish I could hear it.  I can't walk away.  I can't leave this building without doing something, anything.  I don't have my wallet with me, so I look for Matt.  I mention to him what I see, and he walks to the sandwich shop twenty feet away. I walk away, following my family out the doors that lead me home. I stop before I exit, turn in the direction of the man without a name that has now transformed my Christmas Eve, and wait.  Matt walks toward him with a warm meatball sandwich and places it in front of him.  For the first time, the man looks up, and I see a small crease of his lips move upward.  Could it be a smile?  I don't know for I am too far away.

I turn and leave the scene...and a tear falls on the concrete below my feet.  "God," I cry, "this is not what this day should be for so many.  Be their Comforter, their Peace, their loving Father, and hold them tonight.  You came on a cold night for everyone; please come to the so-manys who need You."  

I am moved.  The dichotomy between the joy and heaviness of this brief hour leaves me in thought.

I walk away and ask myself: Do I truly see those around me? What would my life look like if these weren't just moments in my life, but it was the way I lived my life?