"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."
(Hebrews 13:2 KJV)
Margot Carrington-Smythe never liked the cold. It stung her skin and made her diamonds feel heavy. She’d bundled herself in the finest winter coat, Italian leather gloves, and boots that never touched a speck of snow. She had no need to slow down, no desire to look around - only a list of boutiques and a mind full of decorations, ribbons, and designer garlands.
She marched through the store with an air of disgust. The ornaments weren’t imported. The wreaths looked common. She cringed at anything handmade. Christmas, for Margot, was about elegance, not emotion.
She stepped outside to head to the next shop. That’s when she heard it.
“Ma’am?” a small timid voice whispered. “Would you… like to buy some mistletoe?”
She turned. A boy stood there. He was maybe six, maybe younger. His coat was torn, his shoes soaked through, and his hands trembled as he held up a bundle of mistletoe, wrapped in frayed twine. Dirt smudged his cheeks. But his eyes - those eyes - were wide, unsure, but gentle. Hopeful.
Margot recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” she barked. “Go back to wherever you came from.”
The boy said nothing. He didn’t beg. He just slowly lowered his hand. She didn’t look back.
Inside the store, she found herself wandering the greeting card section, irritated at her own restlessness. Her hand landed on a dusty, overlooked card - soft painting, quiet colors. A manger. A child wrapped in cloth, lying in hay. A mother kneeling beside Him.
She stared.
And stared.
And stared.
Something twisted in her chest - shame, maybe. Regret. She saw His face, and suddenly, it wasn’t the Christ child anymore.
It was the boy.
Margot’s hands trembled. She dropped the card and rushed from the store, her heels clicking in panic. She scanned the street. She turned down the alley. She checked the bench. She called out, "Hey boy! I’m so sorry… come back!"
But there was no boy.
Just wind blowing snow all around her.
And silence.
Until Silent Night began playing faintly from a nearby shop window.
Then she saw it.
On the ground, half-covered in slush, was a single ornament. A simple wooden angel, worn with time. Wings chipped, paint faded, face peaceful.
She fell to her knees.
And for the first time in years, Margot cried—not tears of frustration, but deep, aching sorrow. Because she had missed Him. He had come. And she had pushed Him away.
Reflection:
Sometimes Christ comes not in grandeur, but in the quiet, inconvenient places. In the poor. In the forgotten. In the child you don't have time for. He doesn’t force Himself in - He offers Himself softly. And if we’re too proud, too busy, or too polished, we just might miss Him entirely.
Don’t wait until He’s gone to realize He was there.
Prayer:
"Lord, break my heart for what breaks Yours. Strip away my pride, my comfort, my distractions. Let me see You in the lowly, the quiet, the inconvenient. Don’t let me miss You, Lord—not again. Amen."
Today’s Challenge:
Slow down. Look for the unnoticed. Offer kindness without question. And if someone interrupts your day - consider that it might just be Jesus, knocking softly, waiting to be seen.
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