It’s Christmastime in Georgia. An old man walks alone.

Somehow the man reminds me of someone I have known.

He picks a can from the roadside and puts it in his sack.

It takes a lot of effort to straighten up his back.

I wonder what to say to him, or even should I speak.

Unless I turn the other way in a moment we will meet.

Silently I walk along, staring at the ground.

Perhaps if I ignore him, he’ll just walk around.

I can tell that he’s a beggar, probably drifting through.

The stranger needs some help, but that’s not mine to do.

I almost make it past him, when much to my surprise,

the old man says, “Hello son, may I give you some advice?”

“If you want to please The Shepherd, you have to feed His sheep,

give water to the thirsty, and wash your brothers’ feet.

And at Christmastime in Georgia, if a haggard man walks slow,

remember son, he may be one you’re supposed to know.” 

His voice was filled with kindness, so I took no offense.

I wished that I could help him, but had nothing left unspent.

He turned and walked away, before I could even speak.

That’s when I saw his tattered bag, resting at my feet.

“Hey Mister,” I called out, “you forgot to take your sack.”

“Keep it,” he said cheerfully, briefly looking back.

There were gifts for all our children, my wife, and dearest friends.

The last box had a tag with my name written in.

We placed the newfound star atop our tree that night

to tenderly remind us of The Blessed Christmas Light.  

A note came with the star, a scripture proven true.

“Merry Christmas,” it was signed. “Hebrews 13:2.”       

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers:

 for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”