(Both storytellers are seated in chairs, with two empty chairs sitting behind them.)
BARBARA: (Introduces the story as true.)
BOB: Snow fell furiously, and the wind piled it in car-high drifts over all the north-south roads. It was after midnight on Christmas Eve when Barbara and I started driving home with our two children, a three-year old daughter and a two-week old son. We knew we would need gas before reaching our home, but had not anticipated how many gas stations would be closed early due to the gas crisis of that year. (OPEC had embargoed all the oil they were shipping to the U.S.) We also failed to anticipate another event that would unfold later that evening.
Christmas of 1973 would be my last Christmas as pastor of three little churches in northwest Ohio. The following spring I would graduate from seminary and be appointed to a full-time pastorate. Therefore, I wanted the Christmas Eve service to be very special.
We left our seminary apartment mid-morning on Christmas Eve Day. It started snowing during the one hour drive to the church where the joint service would be held that night. I had meant to drive into the nearby town of Kenton to get gas after eating our sack lunch at the church. But dusting and vacuuming, putting candles in the windows, moving the church library off the front pew, rearranging the greens strung on the chancel rail so people could kneel there for communion, and myriad other details of preparation distracted me from buying the gas.
BARBARA: We ate supper and spent the early evening with three elderly parishioners who loved playing grandparent to our two children. We were late leaving their home, and decided to buy gas after the service at one of the 24-hour stations in Kenton.
The candlelight service was well received by the congregation. As they left, their faces told that Christ had been present in our worship. The snowfall outside only added to the warmth of what had happened inside.
BOB: Our warm feelings quickly cooled when we arrived in Kenton. It was after midnight, and all the gas stations had closed. The gas crisis, Christmas Eve, a snowstorm, and the late hour had apparently combined to convince even the 24-hour stations to close.
Apprehensively, we started for home, hoping that a gas station would be open in one of the tiny villages we would pass through on our way home. It was very slow going. Snowplows had been working, but were unable to keep up with the steady wall of snowdrifts being piled on the road by the howling winds. We drove past drifts higher than our car, and through one-lane tunnels in other drifts cut out by the plows. Worst of all, every gas station we came to was closed.
We were only half-way home when the needle of the gas gauge began resting on “E.” The possibility of spending the night with a two-week old baby in a cold car weighed heavily on our minds. We began scrutinizing every farm we passed. Those with gas pumps were noted, and I mentally began marking off the distance I would have to walk back to the last farm with gas.
BARBARA: I had been praying all the way that somehow God would stretch our gas enough to get us home, but eventually the engine coughed, sputtered and died. We coasted into the driveway of a small farm. Not only was there a gas pump in front of the barn, but even though it was nearly 2:00 am, the house still had lights in the windows.
BOB: (Stands up, and moves away from his chair to continue reading.) I left Barbara in the car with our sleeping children, and went up to the house. I could hear voices when I stepped onto the porch, but the voices all went silent when I knocked on the door. No one answered, so I knocked again. Excited whispering betrayed indecision on the other side of the door. After knocking a third time, the whispering ended when a girl about twelve or thirteen opened the door.
I explained my situation, and asked if I might buy some gasoline. The girl turned and talked with the four younger children. Their discussion was rather cryptic to me, until I realized what had been going on before my arrival.
Opened boxes, Christmas wrapping paper, ribbons and bows littered the room. Two smaller children still held new toys in their hands. Other new toys and new clothes laid in small mounds around the room. My interruption seemed to have created quite a dilemma for them. Dad was needed to help solve my problem, but if he came downstairs he would see that his children had gotten an early start on the Christmas presents. Meanwhile, back in the car…
BARBARA: Our daughter had awakened. Ever the worrier, she asked why we had stopped. I explained that we had run out of gas, and Daddy was getting us some more gas. That was worrisome to her, but even worse, she started worrying that Santa would pass by our apartment if we weren’t home and in our beds when he came. Then she returned to an earlier worry. Our apartment had no fireplace and no chimney for Santa to come down to deliver his gifts. “What if he won’t come in the back door, like Daddy said? He won’t leave our presents!”
To get little miss worry-wart to calm down before she awakened her brother, I suggested we sing some Christmas carols together. That would make it easier for Santa to find us, if he heard us singing. She agreed, and so we started singing, “Away in a Manger.” (Begins singing.)
Meanwhile, back on the porch…
BOB: Several more minutes of apprehensive glances, cryptic mumblings and nods, with a few outbursts of protest, finally resulted in action. A hesitant volunteer was recruited, and the boy slowly ascended the staircase to get Dad.
A few long moments passed. Then Dad, still drowsy and in his pajamas, came down the staircase. The boy who had awakened him stood undecided at the top of the stairs. His face betrayed the curiosity that tugged at him to descend and find out what Dad would do with this stranger. While on the other hand, prudent caution seemed to hold him at the top of the stairs in case Dad noticed the condition of the Christmas presents.
By this time, I was also waiting to see Dad’s reaction to the opened presents that littered and filled the whole room. But no reaction registered as he approached me, stepping over presents on the way. His speech and breath revealed the fact that the kids were not the only impatient people in the house. Dad had quite obviously been dipping into the Christmas cheer and was feeling no pain.
Meanwhile, back in the car…
BARBARA: (Singing “Silent Night.”)
Meanwhile, back on the porch…
BOB: After hearing my situation, Dad explained that the pump I had seen by the barn held diesel fuel. My heart dropped. I hadn’t thought of that. It wouldn’t work in my car!
But, Dad volunteered his oldest daughter to go to their car and siphon gas out of it for me. I offered to help her, but he assured me that she was quite capable to handle siphoning the gas. The girl’s eagerness to do the chore betrayed her desire to escape the house before her father awakened to the litter about his feet. She hurriedly grabbed her coat, and practically flew out the door.
Meanwhile, back in the car…
BARBARA: (Singing “Jingle Bells.”)
Meanwhile, back on the porch…
BOB: While the young girl transferred gas to my car, the inevitable happened in the house. Dad took a long, slow look around at the room. Apprehensive young faces followed his eyes.
“Started a little early, didn’t ya?” Dad said.
Nervous giggles and guilty grins were the only replies to Dad’s question. Then a small, but quick-thinking, young diplomat quickly changed the subject to highlight the finer points of one of the gifts he had received. Then everyone began breathing again when Dad took the toy into his hands to more closely examine the marvelous present left by Santa.
The relieved children quickly took advantage of this welcome distraction, and piled Dad’s arms with toys and clothes for him to examine. Words of great appreciation and thankfulness were piled even higher than the gifts on Dad’s lap. The children continued to press this strategy until their sister came to announce that she had put three cans of gas into my car.
Meanwhile, back in the car…
BARBARA: (Singing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”)
Meanwhile, back on the porch…
BOB: As I began thanking everyone for their good deed helping us, Dad asked if I didn’t want a drink before I left. I didn’t think Dad really needed any more, and so I began making my excuses. “My wife and kids are probably starting to get cold out in the car, and besides, I still have to drive us home.”
I shook Dad’s hand, and thanked everyone again. I wished them all a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year, as I closed the door behind me to return to the car.
Meanwhile, back in the car…
BARBARA: (Singing “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”)
(Bob returns to the car.)
“Finally! I was running out of Christmas carols!
BOB: As we opened our own gifts the next morning, we could not help but be very thankful for the gift our family had received the night before. I also realized for the first time that Mary and Joseph must have felt the same warm thankfulness. There had been no room at the inn for them, but still there were caring people who shared what was needed. God saw to that.
BARBARA: On the afternoon of Christmas Eve the following year, our family made a special trip to the farm house we had unintentionally visited the previous year. We wanted them to know how much their help to us meant, and to let them know that we would never forget them. We drove into their driveway again, and Bob carried one of my home-made coffee cakes up on the porch. A note was attached that expressed our appreciation. Bob set the cake beside the door, knocked, and dashed back to the car. We were able to drive away, before Dad had another chance to invite us in for drinks.
Copyright 2020. Robert D. Ingram, 32746 Jourden Rd., Albany, Ohio 45710 (dr.bobingram@gmail.com). Used by permission.
