Last night my family did something that we've never done before as a family. We shared our Christmas Eve ritual with the eight residents of the group home that my eldest son manages. The last time I did something similar was over 35 years ago and I was overwhelmed with sadness at the thought of so many people in this world who were rejected and forgotten during this one time of the year that so many people proclaim to have joy and love in their hearts for their fellow men.
The thing that goes through your mind as you experience a night like that is that there are those who are not only rejected and forgotten during this most special time of the year...there are those who are forgotten and pushed aside by the very people who are supposed to love them more than anyone else in the world, thier own families.
The last time I did this, I was a teenager and I played Santa Claus. A grown young man in his mid twenties sat on my lap and told me that his dearest wish on Christmas would be for his family to come and see him.
It broke my heart and, in the foolishness of my youth, I went home that night and plead with Heavenly Father to never ever let me have a child such as that. When I discovered that Heavenly Father, in His wisdom, denied that prayer, I silently resolved that, no matter what, my son would never ever live apart from his family.
Last night we met and ate and 'danced' to Christmas music with eight men who ranged in age from their seventies to their twenties. Only two of them were ambulatory, two more could get around with attendands holding onto them, the remaining four were in wheelchairs. For most of these men, there was not a single function that they can perform on their own. Virtually, every single one of them must be helped with just about everything they have to do. Attendants need to assist them with bathing, toileting, eating, taking medication, and staying as connected to the world as they can be.
I spent the night watching my eldest son attend to these men and treat them with love and dignity and serve them in ways that their own families would not. I glowed with pride as I watched my son act with Christ-like love and serve others in ways that many I know would never consider doing.
We read the Christmas story in Luke and then we read of the same night from The Book of Mormon. As we opened up to Third Nephi and began to read, Carlos, a young man whose bent and tiny body was confined to a wheelchair, motored his way as close as possible to John-Ross so that he could drink in the experience. In his exhuberance, he accidentally ran his 350 lb wheelchair over Daniel's foot.
Daniel cried out in pain and Carlos, who could not speak, motioned for a plastic sheet of paper with letters arranged in qwerty fashion. When he got the sheet, he laid it out on his lap and turning hos wheelchair back towards my Daniel, struggled to force his unwilling hands to point to letters....S.....O.....R....R....."that's okay", Daniel said as he reached out and held Carlos' hand, "I know you didn't mean it" Carlos' smile beamed up at my youngest son.
It came time for the men to go to bed and for us to return home but when we left, I couldn't help but remember my mom who often embarrased me by making me dig through things that other people had abandoned or thrown away on the side of the road. She would often push me on and try to inspire me by regaling me with stories of other people she had known who had found priceless treasure from items that others had found worthless..
Last night eight priceless treasures, named Carl, Carlos, Elano, Mickey, Ben, Paul and two Dannies were discovered by my family and became a part of ours.
I think my mom would be proud.
