Last Christmas, I opened our home to a family in need. Their house had burned down just before the holidays, leaving them with little more than the clothes on their backs. It felt like the right thing to do—offering them a place to stay while my kids and I spent Christmas at my parents’ house.
Arthur, my seven-year-old, and Ella, who’s nine, were full of questions when I told them. “Mom, what about our decorations? Will they bring their own?” Ella asked with a frown. Arthur, wide-eyed, chimed in, “Do they even have clothes left?”
“They lost a lot,” I explained, “but we’re going to make this Christmas special for them.” Ella’s face brightened. “Maybe we can leave them presents!” she suggested. My heart swelled with pride, and I nodded. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
Before leaving, we made sure everything was perfect. Our tree sparkled with ornaments, wrapped gifts were carefully placed underneath, and fresh blankets were laid on the beds. A handwritten note welcomed them, inviting them to make themselves at home.
