Family touched by simple request

It was a cold December morning. I snuggled deeper into the warm blankets, but curiosity drew me to the window. Jack Frost had been here. Snow was falling gently in little fairy flakes, dancing merrily this way and that. The branches of the trees glistened like diamonds, transforming everything into a shimmering fairyland!

This is definitely a homemade bread and chili day, I thought. It would also be a good day to do some holiday baking. It's going to be a good day, I mused to myself. I couldn't have possibly known or imagined just how good or how special! By the time the stars twinkled this night, an innocent little visitor would etch the real meaning of Christmas in our hearts forever.

The day flew by, and the children came in from school. Five-year-old Jill brought with her a dirty little girl. They came giggling into the kitchen with red little noses and chins and peeled off their wet coats.

I remember the first time I saw Susie the previous summer. Jill and two friends were playing house in the back yard. Their dolls and buggies and a little table and chairs were their playhouse. Looking out my kitchen window, I had noticed a ragged, grimy little girl standing outside the fence wistfully watching.

I was glad when Jill saw her and asked if she wanted to play with them. Susie's eyes lit up. I'll come right back if I can find my doll, she'd said. A short time later Susie reappeared at the fence clutching a filthy one-armed doll.

It seemed awkward for Susie to play make-believe. Jill thought it was because Susie's doll was so ugly. "Want to play with my doll?" Jill queried. Susie was suspicious, but she reluctantly traded. Soon Susie was playing house and having fun with the other little girls. I hadn't seen her since that day last summer.

Susie watched as I formed the bread dough into loaves, then she and Jill were off to play. The chili simmered on the stove, and the aroma of hot bread and apple pie permeated the house. Remember?

Susie reappeared in the kitchen and watched as I took the bread from the oven and brushed the crusts with melted butter. She looked so little and frail! "I better take you home, honey, your mama will be worried about you."

"Mamma's not home yet," she said.

"I bet your daddy will be wondering where you are," I said.

"Daddy doesn't live at our house anymore," she volunteered. "He lives at the prison." My heart wrenched.