Kjell sat in inside a Salvation Army shelter on Christmas day. He could barely move, think or feel, since he just arrived off the street from the minus fifty degrees with the wind-chill. Even though he was too sick with cancer, too old to work, too poor to own a home or pay rent for some other suitable accommodation; even though he had lost his wife a year ago, and their only child was in a special needs home because of her disabilities; he was most grateful for the Sally Ann shelter and the Christmas dinner he was about to eat with the others in similar, if not worst circumstances than himself.
Sigrid had all she could do to drag herself out of bed on Christmas morning. She heard the bells ringing from the village church steeple, heralding this day of joy, peace and love. Yet she wondered where these virtues were; had she lost them forever now that she had gone through with the divorce from her abusive husband? Where was the spirit of Christmas? Suddenly she heard a knock on her door. Should she answer it? Who was it? Surely her husband didn’t know her whereabouts now, or did he? Fear and dread, mingled with a seed of hope, and a speck of courage led her to open the door. It was her pastor, the Reverend Sharon Olavstad. After wishing Sigrid a God Jul, she said, “I thought you might need someone to talk to, so here I am.” Sigrid poured out her soul to the pastor for the rest of the morning.