THERE WAS ROOM AT THE INN

By:   Scriptress

    I have many fond memories of Christmas, but there is one I wish to share with you.

In my little home town in the mountains, it came to the notice of many that on Christmas Day, none of our excellent restaurants were open. Travelers, skiers, the elderly, and those without close family did not have a place to eat out and some had no place to cook. While this was very nice for the employees of these eateries, it tended to make the day cold and lonely for many others.

As I made preparations for my solitary Christmas, the newspaper ad caught my eye. "Free Christmas Dinner," it announced. The address directed people to one of the restaurants. How unique, I thought. Truly an ecumenical Christmas dinner down to its location.

My smoked turkey for munching was on order. The recipe for my home made eggnog, along with my shopping list of ingredients for my made-from-scratch stuffing, waited for a last minute trip to the grocery. The house was clean, and the presents for my dogs were wrapped and waiting on a closet shelf. I had no tree. My little nineteenth century house simply could not accommodate my two active Bouviers, me, and a tree.

Christmas Eve Day everything was ready and waiting. In anticipation of my luncheon date I read the morning paper more thoroughly than usual, while keeping tabs on the clock. I didn't want to be late for my date with friends.

This time the ad, which had run for a week, again caught my eye. It made the point that this free dinner was meant for anyone wishing to come and enjoy the communion of many. And the restaurant was calling for volunteers to help with its service. While I looked forward to starting my traditional Christmas jig saw puzzle, perhaps spending the day serving others might be just be what I needed to make the day special.

Christmas morning I sipped eggnog while watching the dogs demolish the wrappings on their gifts. Then I dressed for the eleven o'clock call.

Our instructions were simple. Make sure the people found a seat. Ask them what they wanted to drink. Get their choice of ham or turkey, or a taste of both. Serve them a plate of salad. Then, return to the service area to get their order. Inside the kitchen, each plate was passed from one person to another allotting the portions. As the heaping plates were placed on the service counter, the line of volunteers moved forward. Second helpings were allowed, though most found their portion to be enough.

The plates we set down before each person were laden with several slices of meat, a serving of mashed potatoes and gravy, a healthy spoonful of mixed vegetables, stuffing and, of course, a roll and pat of butter, all donated by business people and other restaurants. No one left hungry.

While most people coming through the door stayed to eat, many just came to deliver their dessert donations, or to pick up a dinner to be delivered to a shut-in. During one lag I marveled at the all-out community support, saying a silent prayer of gratification to be a part of it. And no one griped about the paper plates.

I was yet to know just how gratifying my day would be. Another lag, and I was filling empty coffee cups when I spotted a young couple coming through the door. I showed them to a seat, and asked for their drink order.

"Just a couple of glasses of water," please, said the young man. I returned with the water and set down the salad plates. "Uh, I think we can do without the salad," he said just barely loud enough for me to hear.

"Oh," I said startled, "then what do you prefer, ham or turkey, or a taste of both?"

Now the young man appeared to be embarrassed. The young pregnant woman began putting on her coat. "We don't have money for a dinner," he said leaning as close to me as possible.

Then leaning closer to him I said, "You have nothing to worry about. This dinner is free, there is no charge. No one pays today, it's Christmas. Here are your salads." I went to get their meals, humbled by the sudden lights of hope and joy shining from their eyes.

I went home, gave my dogs special hugs for being there, and dumped out the two thousand puzzle pieces on my table. Later that night I placed the last available piece from the table finding no more to fill the remaining two gaping spaces. I looked down at the two sleeping dogs at my feet to express my exasperation. In front of each black nose was a picture puzzle piece.

Were they smiling?

Scriptress