Rough Stone Rolling

A friend and his wife used to belong to a popular singing group that toured locally for various events. One Christmas Eve they had two scheduled engagements. One was a holiday party thrown by Steven Spielberg. For the occasion, the singers dressed to the nines– The men in tuxes, women in red velvet dresses. They sang a set of arrangements to an audience consisting of industry power-players, celebrities and the wealthy, and were received with enthusiastic applause.

The second engagement was downtown at a Salvation Army adult rehab center. The human spirit in meltdown. The audience was a gathering of broken men in tattered clothes who tried to clean up the best they could. They tucked their shirts and buttoned them up to their necks– only some had ties. They cleaned their faces and hands, and combed their hair. Butcher paper was spread out on long tables to serve as table clothes for their turkey dinners, and they sat eagerly for their Christmas entertainment. Well, my friend’s group sang the exact same set, with the same energy & devotion, that they gave Spielberg’s party. The men loved it, and the happiness and gratitude their faces conveyed will forever be etched in the singers’ hearts.

Christmas consistently tears me up. I can’t help but think of those who don’t have, those who are alone and broken-hearted. If I want to torture myself, I imagine children who aren’t getting anything this year while their friends are…their faces. Every year I reach out to help, but my efforts feel feeble. And yet, I keep trying. Every year.

My friend, his wife and the other singers were well-paid for their services at the Hollywood party, but it was meager compared to the gift they received from those tattered, broken, grateful men on that Christmas Eve.