The Unwanted Father

The bus was crowded, and the only seat left was beside a feeble-looking, snowy-haired old man, evidently in his late 70's. The evangelist placed his handbag up in the rack and sat down beside the aged gentleman. Wishing to be friendly, the clergyman remarked, "Everyone seems to be in a hurry to get home for Christmas." The old man, however, made no reply. His eyes were full of tears. Slightly puzzled, the minister ceased speaking and waited for the old fellow to answer.

Directly in front of them sat two young men playing a portable radio. Someone was singing that old familiar ballad:

To keep tears from his own eyes, Rev. Davis turned away from the heart-broken old man and gazed out the opposite window at the snow-covered hills and valleys. Surely, this was going to be a white Christmas. It had been snowing since early that morning, and the flakes were getting larger. The minister thought of his long journey and wondered how much farther the infirm old gentleman had to go. Too bad, the old fellow is in trouble, he thought to himself. It didn't seem right for an old man to be crying like this; or, as a matter of fact, he shouldn't even be traveling alone at his age, especially in such weather.

As if sensing the preacher's thoughts, the old man began wiping his eyes and trying to act as if nothing were wrong; and, when he finally looked up, said bluntly. "I'm going to Dufleld - or about six miles on this side - to see my son Oscar. My two daughters, Ruthie and Sally, live in Dufield. I have lot seen either of them since last Christmas."

The Minister smiled at him and then said, "We're not far from Dufleld now. About eighteen miles," the old man replied as he cleared his throat.

"It surely looks cold out there," declared the evangelist, pleased at the chance to get a conversation with the aged stranger. "When I get out in the country like this on a snowy day," continued the minister, "I always think of my boyhood days; how we used to run the cows in through the snow; and how we would sit around the fireplace at night, parchroasting Potatoes. You know, I sometimes think we can stand almost anything during the coming year if we can just have a nice Christmas with our loved ones and friends. For example, take me, I have been riding since early this morning, and I still have about ninety miles to go; but, I know that when I reach home my wife will be waiting for me, and my little girl will be looking with joy to receive her Christmas presents. How wonderful it is -- going home for Christmas!"

The minister looked just in time to see a quiver pass over the old man's face, and to see him choke back a sob. Then the old fellow answered: "Yes, it is wonderful."

"How unthoughtful of me!" said the evangelist to himself. "Now, I have said something that I shouldn't. Perhaps the old fellow doesn't have any home." Then pleaded the man of God softly: "Pardon me sir maybe I spoke the wrong thing. I don't know what your troubles are, neither do I have to know; nevertheless, I am a minister of the gospel - Rev. Carl Davis - and it is possible that I could help you."

The broken-down old man extended his hand after looking at the minister for a moment and said, "I'm Samuel Moore; I've got to tell you, Rev., for my heart is breaking. It has been three years ago today since I lost my wife. She's buried up here in front of the old home place. Oscar was living out here with us when she died. I stayed on with him for almost a year; then his wife carried me to stay with Ruthie for a while, but Ruthie's husband had his father there; so Sally came and took me to live with them. And then one morning she and her husband called me in and said they were going on a trip, and had made plans for me to stay at the County Home for a while. So, next day they took me down there and left me. I kept waiting, but they didn't come back, or even let me hear from them. So I came home last Christmas, but they talked plain to me and let me know that I had to go back to the County Home. In fact, all three of the children got together and talked it over with me - or rather before me - and said whenever they had room to take care of me, they would come and get me and keep me for a few days. So, after Christmas Sally and her husband carried me back. This year, I wrote Oscar. I didn't give him time to answer, but told him I would be on this bus this afternoon. I told him if he had room for me, I would stop; but, if he didn't. I would stay on the bus and go on into Dufield and see if I could spend Christmas with Sally or Ruthie. I know it was a foolish thing to do, but I just couldn't stand to get a letter from my son telling me not to come for Christmas. I thought up this, so it would be easier on us both. But now, I'm worried!"

The minister looked at the old unwanted father and knew that he meant what he had said. "What are you worried about, sir?" he asked.

"I'm afraid Oscar won't want me."

"But how will You know?"

The old man rubbed his tottering hand over the steamy windowpane until a small portion was clear. It was growing dark now, and the snow was still failing, but the few houses could still be seen dimly through the relentless fury of the failing snow.

"Just a little farther," he said in a trembling and weak voice, and then he looked at the preacher. "I can't see," he said. "I just can't see though all that snow."

"What is it you're looking for? Some sign to let you know if they're expecting you?"

"Yes, that's it," came the muffled reply. "I told my son if he could take me in, to put the lantern in the cherry tree near the orchard gate. The tree is near the highway; it can be seen plainly. We're just about there, too. I just can't see anything through these windows; my eyes won't let me. Will you look please?"

The old man was crying now; the minister's eyes were also misty. Leaning over, he put an arm around the aged man and patted his shoulder. "That's all right, Dad; you don't have to look. I'll look for you - I'll tell you when I see it."

"But I'm afraid you won't see it," he sobbed. "I doubt they have even put it out. I'm afraid they don't want me."

Suddenly they passed a small filling station, and the old man reached for his cane and said, "We're almost there."

The minister strained his eyes to peer through the falling snow. He must not fail. But he need not have worried, for there it was, all trimmed and burning.

Laughing and crying, the minister pulled the cord, and at the same time-cried, "Look, Dad! there it is, burning brightly." And surely it was, the family lantern with its bright light, which gaily fluttered in the brisk wind like a victory banner, welcoming the old man home.

After thanking the man of God for his help and kindness, the aged man pulled down his faded hat and hobbled out into the blizzard. He swayed, and would have fallen, but the minister's strong arm was around him, and helped him out safely to the ground.

Fighting bravely against the fierce wind and stinging snow, the old man made his way up the lane and across the field toward the old home place on the crest of the hill. A passer-by seeing, the old man leave the bus, gazed curiously at him, wondering who he was and where he had started. Watching the feebleness of the old fellow, he thought it best to follow him; but the deepening of the snow and the fierceness of the blizzard soon hid the old man from his sight. He was unable to determine which way the old fellow had taken. "He can't go far," he muttered to himself. "He is almost frozen to death by now, wherever he is."

Then plunging deeper into the blizzard he pressed forward; but, finding no trace of the old man, he at length ventured across the field to a lighted house and knocked hurriedly on the door.

"Did an old feeble man come in here within the last thirty minutes or so?" he asked.

"No." Then turning to his wife, the man of the house asked, "Do you suppose Father came anyway and has gotten lost in this blizzard?"

"I don't know," answered the wife with a solemn expression coming over her face. "I hung the lantern in the tree this afternoon", shouted little Bobby with a gleeful look in his eyes. "I saw the letter on the table yesterday after I came from Aunt Ruthie's. I hope Grandpa has come."

"He will surely freeze on a night like this," exclaimed the passer-by as he, accompanied by Oscar and one of the older boys, retraced his steps to the place where he lost sight of the aged man. Finally, they saw a figure lying on the ground just ahead. Oscar ran forward. Yes, it was he.

"Dad!" He cried, grasping his father's shoulder. "Let's get up and go to the house!"

"I-wanted to spend - Christmas - with - you," the old fellow said in a whisper and then fainted away.

The snow and cold had proved to be too much for the feeble old man. Oscar summoned a doctor, while others rendered first aid. But it was too late. The old man's worries were over. His fear was finished. The aged Samuel Moore had fallen asleep only to awaken in the day of the resurrection.

Reader, are you as thoughtless as Ruthie, Sally and Oscar, who lived comfortably while their father worried, suffered, and died broken-hearted? They were too busy exchanging gifts and greetings to entertain their friendless and feeble old father. How often we fail at the Christmas season to spread the thought which God would like to reveal to us and to have us pass on to others!

Instead of the mere exchange of gifts and greetings, let us add the message of the gospel. Let us not be satisfied with men's self-styled form of celebration, but let us magnify that great Gift that God gave us.

Let us have an overflow of the love of God in the hearts of His people. God manifested this love to us through the gift of his dear Son Jesus. Oh, how our hearts feel an increased flow of this love!

Too, may God help us to be prayerful lest the extra task of shopping and other obligations rob us of the glorious feeling of worship that so rightfully belongs to us. Life any other way is sure to end in disillusion and discontent.

Let us sing and be glad. Let us give and rejoice. But by no means let us allow Christ to be replaced by a spirit of waste and lavishness.

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