ONCE UPON A TIME, I went to the mall during the Christmas holidays. As I was wandering through a department store, I heard some unusual sounds in the form of groans and loud outbursts. Eventually I realized the noises were coming from a group of disabled men who were on a field trip to the mall.
These elderly men were curled up in wheelchairs, wearing bibs, and shouted out occasionally. Each wheelchair was pushed by a healthcare worker. I could tell these men were well taken care of. They all sported bright Christmas sweaters and it was obvious that the healthcare workers were trying to make things as festive as possible for them. Some of the wheelchairs were even decorated.
And I was touched at the effort of these healthcare workers to give these men—many of whom were unaware of their surroundings—a little Christmas spirit.
As I was standing in line to make a purchase, some people in front of me were clearly uncomfortable with the outbursts these men were making. Some even expressed their annoyance, rolling their eyes and sighing at the disruptions.
And there, with Christmas music playing and the salesclerks wearing Santa hats, surrounded by tinsel and glitter and sparkle, I looked at those healthcare workers caring for those poor men and thought that they, more than anyone else I had encountered at the mall that day, reminded me of that stable in Bethlehem. They deserved better than the dirty looks they were getting because, heaven knows, they were doing a job not many of us could do.
I know I could not.
So, I got out of line to go and speak to them. In a voice that carried back to the register, I touched one of the workers on the arm and said, "I think it is wonderful that you bring these gentlemen to the mall so they can experience a little holiday spirit." The healthcare worker gave me the warmest smile, we chatted for a couple of minutes, and when I walked away I felt as if I had been in the presence of someone great.
Like an angel.
At the mall.
"To love another person is to see the face of God."
Les Misérables, Victor Hugo
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