Every now and then, I get something in email that is so worth sharing. This is one of them.

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn’t been
anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to
him. He didn’t hate Christmas, just couldn’t find a reason to celebrate. He was
sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and
wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless
man stepped through.
Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers,
told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. “Thank you, but I don’t
mean to intrude,” said the stranger. “I see you’re busy, I’ll just go.” “Not
without something hot in your belly.” George said.
He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. “It
ain’t much, but it’s hot and tasty, “Stew … Made it myself. When you’re done,
there’s coffee and it’s fresh.”
Just at that moment he heard the “ding” of the driveway bell. “Excuse me, be
right back,” George said. There in the driveway was an old ’53 Chevy. Steam was
rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. “Mister can you help me!”
said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. “My wife is with child and my car
is broken.” George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from
the cold, the car was dead. “You ain’t going in this thing,” George said as he
turned away.
“But Mister, please help …” The door of the office closed behind George as he
went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and
went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the
truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. “Here, take my
truck,” he said. “She ain’t the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real
George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the
night. He tu rned and walked back inside the office. “Glad I gave ’em the truck,
their tires were shot too. That ‘ol truck has brand new .” George thought he was
talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk,
empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. “Well, at least he got something in his
belly,” George thought.
George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly,
but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He
thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no
customers. He discovered the the block hadn’t cracked, it was just the bottom
hose on the radiator. “Well, shoot, I can fix this,” he said to
himself. So he put a new one on.
“Those tires ain’t gonna get ’em through the winter either.” He took the snow
treads off of his wife’s old Lincoln . They were like new and he wasn’t going to
drive the car anyway.
As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a
police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder,
the officer moaned, “Please help me.”
George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received
in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. “Pressure to stop
the bleeding,” he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and
had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. “Hey,
they say duct tape can fix anythin’,” he said,
trying to make the policeman feel at ease.
“Something for pain,” George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his
back. “These ought to work.” He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman
the pills. “You hang in there, I’m going to get you an ambulance.”
The phone was dead. “Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box
out in your car.” He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the
dashboard destroying the two way radio.
He went back i n to find the policeman sitting up. “Thanks,” said the officer.
“You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area.”
George sat down beside him, “I would never leave an injured man in the Army and
I ain’t gonna leave you.” George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding.
“Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through ‘ya. Good thing it
missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as
George got up and poured a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?” he asked. “None
for me,” said the officer. “Oh, yer gonna drink this.  Best in the city. Too bad
I ain’t got no donuts.” The officer laughed and winced at the same time.
The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. “Give
me all your cash! Do it now!” the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and
George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.
“That’s the guy that shot me!” exclaimed the officer.
“Son, why are you doing this?” asked George, “You need to put the cannon away.
Somebody else might get hurt.”
The young man was confused. “Shut up old man, or I’ll shoot you, too. Now give
me the cash!”
The cop was reaching for his gun. “Put that thing away,” George said to the cop,
“we got one too many in here now.”
He turned his attention to the young man. “Son, it’s Christmas Eve. If you need
money, well then, here. It ain’t much but it’s all I got. Now put that  p ea
shooter away.”
George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching
for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on
the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. “I’m not very good at this am I?
All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,” he went on. “I’ve lost
my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week.”
George handed the gun to the cop. Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and t
hen. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can.”
He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the
cop. “Sometimes we do stupid things.” George handed the young man a cup of
coffee. “Bein’ stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin’ in here
with a gun ain’t the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we’ll sort this
thing out.”
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. “Sorry I shot you.
It just went off. I’m sorry officer.”
  “Shut up and drink your coffee .” the cop said.
George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance
skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. “Chuck! You ok?”
one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
“Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?”
“GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?” the other
cop asked as he approached the young man.
Chuck answered him, “I don’t know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped
his gun and ran.”
George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
“That guy work here?,” the wounded cop continued. “Yep,”  George said, “just
hired him this morning. Boy lost his job.”
The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned
over the wounded cop and whispered, “Why?”
Chuck just said, “Merry Christmas boy … and you too, George, and thanks for
“Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some
of your problems.”
George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring
box. “Here you go, something for the little woman. I don’t think Martha would
mind. She said it would come in handy some day.”
The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. “I
can’t take this,” said the young man. “It means something to you.”
“And now it means something to you,” replied George. “I got my memories. That’s
all I need.”
George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next.
They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. “Here’s something
for that little man of yours.”
The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had
handed him earlier.
“And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too,”
George said, “Now git home to your family.”
The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. “I’ll be here in the
morning for work, if that job offer is still good.”
“Nope. I’m closed Christmas day,” George said. “See ya the day after.”
George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. “Where’d you come
from? I thought you left?”
“I have been here. I have always been here,” said the stranger. “You say you
don’t celebrate Christmas. Why?”
“Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn’t see what all the bother was.
Puttin’ up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin’ cookies
like I used to with Martha just wasn’t the same by myself and besides I was
getting’ a little chubby.”
The stranger put his hand on George’s shoulder. “But you do celebrate the
holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and
hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.
The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by
terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not
take any for himself. “That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good
as any man.”
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. “And how do you know all
this?” asked the old man.
“Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your
da ys are done you will be with Martha again.”
The stranger moved toward the door. “If you will excuse me, George, I have to go
now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned.”
George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger
was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.
“You see, George… it’s My birthday. Merry Christmas.”
George fell to his knees and replied, “Happy Birthday, Lord!”
Merry Christmas!!
This story is better than any greeting card.