Christmas 2007 

Though it was broken, she treated it as though it was nothing less than priceless. For after all – it was.

Trudy wouldn’t say why she had left home. The most she ever surrendered was said one evening as she ran her finger across the sharp edges of her sacred keepsake – “You can only get so broken and still be worth something.” Enough said.

A Christmas ornament. An ordinary round, red ball and hook, hanging from her worn napsack.

And while she kept her own story a mystery, she was enthusiastic about the story of the ornament. “My grandma’s tree was all red. Red lights, red balls, red tinsel. Even a red star.” Pause. “I loved it. I loved her. But she’s gone.” Pause. “We got half of her belongings, including all of the Christmas stuff.” Pause. Tears. “When I came home one day from school everything was thrown around the living room – broken, ruined. All of it.” More tears, and then she walked away.

The telling of the ornament’s story gave her up. Just as most street stories are revealed – through the thin curtain of unlikely objects, childhood memories and pauses in simple stories.

Mom left years ago. Dear grandma passed away. And dad had nothing to offer but rage and spite. Trudy was broken. Very broken.

Trudy packed her things and left that same day. On her way out the door she picked up one ornament from the living room floor. One tiny bit of grandma. Of love. A memory of comfort and joy.

Of all that’s lacking on the streets, nothing is more scarce than comfort and joy. Tidings of comfort and joy, desperately needed.

This year, and perhaps for years to come – I am inviting you to join my family in hanging one broken ornament on your tree. Somewhere easy to see. So that every time you see it you will be reminded to say one simple prayer:

“For all whose hearts are breaking this season – comfort and joy. I pray for comfort and joy.”

And may it own you in a way that you seek opportunities right where you are – to bring comfort and joy to the broken-hearted in your life.

The last time I saw Trudy, she was kneeling in a ditch, cupping the ornament in both hands, and sobbing.

Priceless and broken… the ornament and Trudy.

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