Woe, Woe, Woe, Merry Christmas

"I'm lonely," she said. "Can I come in?"

Is there anything else to say but "Yes"?

This stranger hadn't rung my doorbell under the pretense of borrowing a cup of sugar. I assumed she was not planning to crack me over the head and steal the Christmas presents. Besides, she looked to be about 70 years old. I figured I could wrestle her to the ground if necessary.

I invited her in. I offered her tea and to my dismay she did not politely decline. We were sitting on my sofa making awkward small talk when my parents arrived.

They smiled and said hello and then my mother rushed me into the bedroom for a full interrogation. My father was left in the living room to make sure the old woman didn't rob the place.

I explained the situation to my mother who was placed in the uncomfortable position of having to admit that inviting the woman into my home was the kind and Christian thing to do.

"She was lonely," I said.

My family is a religious one. I grew up going to church every Sunday. I spent eight years in Lutheran school and performed in almost a decade's worth of Christmas pageants. I'd been cast as the Virgin Mary. I couldn't help but wonder: Maybe this was a biblical test. This wasn't just an elderly stranger who'd come to my door; it was a visitation. Jesus was on my stoop!

My mother wasn't convinced the old lady was Jesus in a housedress. But the worry was she was so depressed about being alone at Christmas she might pull a Sylvia Plath. My mother and I walked back into the living room just in time to hear my father enthusiastically inquire, "So how's your holiday going?"

Oh daddy.

We all sat in the living room for a bit, talking about the snow. She finished her tea and then said she should probably get going. I encouraged her to stay longer. I was sincere, but I was also trying to be polite.

Anyway, the old lady declined the invitation. She stood up, said thank you, and went home.