Christmas was approaching; how I hated this time of year. Stores were filled with decorations appealing to the eyes of the young. Everyone was talking about Santa coming, encouraging children to ask for their heart’s desire. I couldn’t even feed my children.

At just 2 and 4, my son and daughter didn’t mind wearing the few ragged outfits that were obviously too small, and walking around barefoot since outgrowing their last pair of shoes. They were used to going without meals, and rarely complained when they were hungry. Occasionally we walked the three miles to the library to read, or to a local church to receive a bag of food. Most times I carried both on the return trip because their little legs would wear out.

We were staying in the woods behind a campground where nobody would see us. During busy times at the clubhouse we used the showers with no questions asked. Once the weather turned cold I worried about finding ways to keep the kids warm. We didn’t have any coats or even a warm blanket, but so far we had managed.

Christmas morning my children were excited. They knew Santa could give them something because he didn’t need money. Running around gleefully, they searched for the presents he must have delivered. Finding nothing, they approached me with downcast eyes. “We must have been bad,” they said.

My heart ached. My kids were the best behaved I had ever known, yet society now had them convinced that they were bad because I couldn’t afford to give them a present.

Over the years my husband had refused to let me work, and refused to keep a job himself because they were all “beneath him.” We had lived in a Ford Escort, a 19-foot travel trailer and run-down shacks. My husband kept us moving around, preventing us from getting to know anyone or altering our lifestyle in any way. Now without him, we lived with no transportation, no income and little hope of change.

When the weather became unbearable, we spent time wandering around the nearest department store where the temperature was controlled. There was always a restroom available, and if we timed it properly, we could use it for cleaning up as well. As we walked the streets we found many useful items tossed out by those we considered to be affluent. The few toys my kids owned had been discarded by others. On occasion we were lucky enough to have a makeshift mat to lie on, rather than sleeping on the ground.

Although we were invisible to most who preferred to pretend that nobody was going without a meal, nothing was worse than the looks of disdain given us by the “upstanding” individuals who surrounded us. I felt like the community’s refuse, cast off through no fault of my own.

Local shelters were full, and abuse centers had previously turned us away for the same reason; we had nowhere to turn. In desperation I swallowed my pride and approached the pastor of a church that had occasionally given us food. When I asked if anyone might have a room available so I could clean up to find a job and a place of our own, he refused to even ask his congregation. His comments cut deep as he insinuated that I must have been unfaithful in my marriage and most assuredly deserved whatever came my way.

As I walked out of the church that day, my belief that God wanted nothing to do with me was reinforced, and I determined to provide for my children the only way I knew how. I had just one thing to offer — myself — and upon finding a willing man, traded that for the room and board we needed. Soon after, I found a job and was able to provide for our needs in a proper manner.

Years later I noticed people throughout the community, outside stores and at parks, repairing homes, handing out drinks and washing cars. Each time they had smiles on their faces and refused all monetary offers. These church people didn’t wait for hurting individuals to come to them. They went out to find the lost and care for the felt needs that were keeping people out of church. The members lived the words of Matthew 25:37-40: “‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’”

I was drawn to this church that exuded the love of God and shared His love through practical expressions. Although I expected condemning words, harsh looks or demands for repayment for acts of kindness, those never came. They accepted us with open arms, never looked down on us, and supported us as we struggled to rise above the past. We received food, clothing, gas, oil changes, auto repairs and encouragement. As the walls came down I began to yearn for whatever it was these people had. Nobody tried to talk me into becoming a Christian, but they also didn’t hide what they believed.

While I couldn’t hear God over the growling of our stomachs, He reached out to give us food. I couldn’t feel Him because we were shivering in the cold, yet He provided clothing and a place to stay. I couldn’t see Him because my children’s suffering filled my eyes; still He loved us. Even when the world turned us away, He asked us to come to Him. I didn’t have to get my life together first, but my heart didn’t open until my immediate needs no longer distracted me. Today, Christopher, Alicia and I are Christians who are actively seeking to serve those who have been cast off and tossed aside by society — just as Jesus did.