@Misti26,
I heard it this way: The Christmas Rug
Freely adapted from a story told often by Major D. J. Garrington
by Steve Garrington
“So you like stories, do you?” The Salvation Army Major looked at me through thick glasses over a desk piled high with paperwork. You could tell from the awards and photos hung rather haphazardly on the wall that he had “been around.” He leaned a little closer, his eyes squinted and his lips began to curl into a soft kind smile. “Well son, I do have a story for you. Mind you, I’m not sure exactly where it happened. I’ve heard it was up in Washington State or maybe one of the Carolinas.” He paused for a moment and I looked down at my blank pad of yellow lined paper. “I guess I like to think of it happening in a small city in say, downstate Illinois. To tell the truth, I’m not really sure how much of the story is true, but this is how I heard it. The story starts with a Salvation Army officer ringing the bells just before Christmas. I’ll just call him Captain John.”
Captain John was not a happy bell ringer. Oh, there was a smile on his face and a “Merry Christmas” on his lips and a jolly ‘ding-ding’ from his silver Salvation Army bell, but behind the smile there was no joy on that cold, bleak December day. It was the week before Christmas and it had been a rotten week. Everything had seemed to go wrong at the same time.
It had all started with the snowstorm that lasted all day Monday. Storms are never good for The Salvation Army in December. When there is a storm people don’t put money in the red kettles, and Captain Mary had told her husband that because of this, they might not make their financial goal for that year. And if you don’t make your goal, the budget has to be redone and something has to be cut. If that wasn’t enough, the next day, as the bright sun began to shine, they had discovered the leak in sanctuary of the Corps building.
The Major interrupted his story, looked me in the eye, smoothed the bit of hair that still clung to his mostly bald head and then opened that hand in my direction. “You know what a Corps building is son?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “It’s like a church. We have services on Sunday like any other church. We have pews, crosses, hymn books, sermons; the whole nine yards.” I nodded my understanding; he swiveled in his office chair and looked out the window. He was quiet for a moment and I could see that his eyes were not looking at the cityscape and as he continued with the story, his voice sounded almost distant.
The wind had blown off some old shingles, and the rain, sleet, and finally the heavy wet snow had started leaking into the building. In no time the water had followed the timbers to the rear of the Corps building’s sanctuary and had thoroughly soaked the plaster on the wall. The leak was revealed that morning when the Captains found a large pile of old wet plaster on the floor and a long narrow jagged hole in the wall, right behind the altar. Captain John realized that when he stood to give the Christmas Eve sermon, the hole would be right behind him.
The roof people came out two days later and had quickly replaced the missing singles which had caused the problem. However, this close to Christmas (it was now only a couple of days away) the two Captains couldn’t find anyone who would come out and repair the unsightly hole in the plaster.
That evening the Captains walked passed what they were now calling “the ugly hole” on their way to the church gym where the Ladies Home League was having their annual Christmas Auction. Captain John and his wife, Captain Mary, didn’t plan to do much bidding. They were there mostly for moral support. Then the auctioneer unrolled a “Turkish” rug. It was not quite four feet wide and probably about ten or twelve feet long. Perhaps it had been made for an entryway or hallway at one time. It was cream colored and had green geometric designs running around the edges.
With stars in her eyes and hand in the air, Captain Mary was out of her chair. To her husband’s amazement, they were soon the owners of a long narrow rug for eight dollars and fifty cents. Grabbing John with one hand and the rug with the other, she ran back to the sanctuary and the jagged hole. There she unrolled the carpet on the floor front of it. “See,” she said in a voice of triumph, “I knew it would hide the hole. Get your hammer and some nails.”
A few moments later Captain John climbed down from the ladder and admired his work. It did look good. At least it looked a lot better than the hole. And when they would light the candles on the altar for the Christmas Eve service, it would look even better. With spirits rising, he and his wife held hands and prayed a little prayer of thanksgiving.
The telephone call the next morning tossed Captain John back into pit of discouragement. It was the president of the local Rotary Club. They had promised to ring the bells at the Mega-mart that day (it was the red kettle that brought in the most money) but the guy who had signed up for the 10-12 shift had become ill and they couldn’t find a replacement. Captain John would have to take yet another turn ringing the bells.
And that is why on this day before Christmas Eve he was forcing a smile, but he was not happy. There was little cheer in his voice he thanked old and young alike for their donations of change and dollar bills. As he switched the bell from his left hand to his right, an olive skinned lady wearing a thin, cotton coat came out the exit door and Captain John realized that he had seen her come out several times before. She reentered the store and then in a few moments, came out again, looked around and started to reenter the store once more. With curiosity overcoming his bad mood Captain John asked, “Excuse me, but can I help you?”
In her thick accent she replied that she was looking for the bus. “Oh, it stops on the main road by the light, and it won’t be here for some time.” He explained. “But it also stops right in front of The Salvation Army building. It’s only three blocks away. Why don’t you go there and wait. You can sit and watch for the bus through the front window. My wife is there and she probably has a pot of coffee on.” The woman politely tried to refuse but Captain John insisted, and with a smile and a “Merry Christmas” she walked off.
A few moments later Captain Mary answered the knock at the door of the Corps building. “Your husband at the Mega-mart said I might wait here for the bus.”
Mary smiled. “Of course, come in and sit down in the sanctuary. Would you like a cup of coffee?” She had turned and was already on her way to the church kitchen. “Anything in it?”
The request for sugar trailed Captain Mary through the door. When she returned the woman wasn’t sitting where Mary had left her. Mary quickly turned her head in both directions searching and found the stranger behind the altar gently caressing the rug. With cup in hand Captain Mary began to tell the story of the snowstorm and the hole, but the woman was not listening. Mary’s voice trailed off and the stranger carefully lifted the edge of the rug.
“I… I made this.” She slowly turned her head to the young lady Captain. “In Beirut we, my late husband and I, had a rug shop. This is one I made. Look, here is my mark.” There on the back, in the corner, a few threads formed what appeared to be a cross and a flower. The woman explained that she and her husband were Lebanese Christians. When the civil war had started their business had died and they had decided to come to America. She left for the Airport to pick up the tickets. He was to follow after receiving the money for the sale of the shop building. He never arrived at the airport. She never saw him again.
She didn’t know what to do. There was no home or place to return to. Her husband had made all the plans. She didn’t even know where in America they were going. There was nothing to do but to get on the airplane and hope that he would follow. On the airplane she told her story to an American in the next seat. He was a Christian who owned a small chain of motels. One of these motels was on the other side of this small city, and he had offered her a job cleaning the motel rooms until things got better. He would even allow her to stay there as part of her salary.
For three years now, she had worked, saved her money and then spent most of it trying every way possible to contact, or find news of, her husband. There had been no answers to her letters or her prayers. A few weeks ago she heard that he was one of a group of Christians gunned down by Moslem militia. Now she was returning to her room after an interview for a better paying job at Mega-mart.
Just past noon Captain John returned to the Corps building to find his wife and a lady they had just met hugging each other, and praying. On the altar, next to an open Bible, a small pile of moist tissues surrounded an untouched cup of coffee (with sugar).
After the retelling of her story, Captain John offered to give their new friend the rug, but she refused. However there was no refusing Captain Mary’s insistence that the woman be given a ride back to her room in The Salvation Army mini van.
The next night was Christmas Eve. The Corps building (with the new addition behind the altar) had never looked more beautiful. And, it being Christmas Eve and all, the building was fuller than usual. Captain John’s sermon was pronounced wonderful by all as they left the building for their homes. On the way out the door, an older couple stopped and introduced Captain John to their new neighbor. Because he was new in town and had no family, the couple had invited him to come with them to The Salvation Army that night. He had salt and pepper hair, and had just opened a small restaurant that specialized in Gyros.
Captain John shook his hand and said that he was welcome to visit again. At this the man smiled and looked down at his shoes. In a soft, thickly accented voice he began, “I know this is very odd, Captain. But the rug... Well, when my late wife and I had a shop in Beirut, we made rugs just like that one on the wall.”
The Captain grabbed the man’s shoulders and with wide eyes called “Mary, come quickly.” As she arrived he was stammering out the question, “Tell me; tell me please, what happened to your wife?”
The man looked at the Captain with a very puzzled expression. “After the U. S. Marines were killed there were many other bombings and killings in Beirut. We decided to leave the country. She went one way to the airport, and I went another. I was cut off by the Moslem Militia and after several days had to get out by sneaking across the Turkish border. When I finally arrived in America I heard she had been killed by a car bomb on the way to the airport. I should have gone and died with her. Perhaps these three years of loneliness is how God is punishing me for being greedy about some money.”
The last sentence was lost as the man was pulled up the steps and next to the rug by Captain Mary. “Tell me this, tell me this!” she interrupted. “Did your wife put her initials on the rugs she made?”
“Initials? No, but she always put her mark of a cross and a flower and…” His sentence was never finished as both Captains started talking at the same time. A story was repeated, the corner of the rug lifted and a cross and flower monogram exposed, and tears began to flow. Within minutes the Captains, and now a very excited gentleman, were in the Salvation Army mini van and on their way to a motel on the other side of town where a husband and wife would spend a Christmas day in a joyous reunion that no one, especially two young Salvation Army Captains, would ever forget.
The Major stopped and slowly spun his chair back to fix his stare on me. “Now son,” he said wiping a tiny bit of moisture from just below his eye, “let me ask you something.” My pencil grew still. “Was the miracle in the storm? Was it in the exact size of the hole? Or was it in the rug that just fit? Perhaps the miracle was in a bell ringer getting sick at just the right time? Was the miracle in the motel job accepted or in a church service a man just happened to attend?”
I couldn’t speak. I had no idea how to answer. The Major lifted a wrinkled hand that had held many a Christmas bell and stopped me before I started. “Don’t answer son; it doesn’t matter. Just write down that it was the Christmas season. Write that it was the season when we celebrate the miraculous birth of our Savior, Jesus; write that it was the season of miracles.”
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