On the Ninth Day of Christmas: Nine Door Knockers

Paul and I moved to Dillsburg from Rochester, NY in July of 1981. By the time December rolled around that year, we had already been through a lot as a family: Kelle's school career had begun, Kara was potty training, and Tim was born in November. We had incurred heating bills at a time when the price of oil had skyrocketed, and by December we owed big money to the local oil company. To avoid debtors prison, we had borrowed from my parents to purchase a wood-burning stove. Paul and I knew nothing about fire, so let's just say we all were freezing. How we managed baths for ourselves and the kids is another story.

There had been earlier hardships as well: our living situation had fallen through the day before we moved to the area. Paul's parents took the girls for the weekend so we could look for a place immediately available, something I wouldn't recommend doing, especially in month seven of pregnancy. In the end, everything worked out, but we had to move twice within a month before finally landing. Kelle's transition from home to the two-and-a-half hours of daily kindergarten was a challenge for many reasons, among them a teachers' strike that delayed the school year by several weeks. When the strike ended and classes began, we learned that Kelle's teacher was a long-term substitute and that the regular teacher who was on maternity leave planned to return before Christmas. That's the year we learned how difficult change is for Kelle.

One Friday evening in December of that crazy year, Paul brought home a small Christmas tree and, with Kelle and Kara, set it up and decorated it while I cleaned up from dinner. Suddenly there came a knock at the front door--a surprise to us since we didn't yet know anyone who would drop by on a Friday evening. Paul answered, and from the kitchen I heard the sound of a lovely, resonant male voice say, "Just want you to know we know you're here!" The voice was that of a Dillsburg pastor who had come to welcome our family to the community. We weren't at the time attending any church and hadn't yet visited his, so I still don't know how he knew we were there. And  I don't remember much of what he said to us during that short visit. I only know that as a result we were touched by a spirit of gratitude, joy and hope.

During the Christmas season we often hear and sometimes even view stories that have to do with unexpected visits with unexpected results. Scriptures warn us to be hospitable because we may, unaware, be welcoming (or not) angels. But hospitality is expressed in many ways. Though it was Paul who opened the door that evening in December, we felt we had been received into our new community. After Charlie Best's departure, we were pretty sure, given the way our hearts were warmed, that we had entertained an angel.