By Zella Torchia

It was a crisp, cold night and the soft snow fell lightly into beautiful designs on Casey Porter's worn and ragged hat.

He shuffled slowly by his favorite snack shop with his head down. A small gust of cool wind ruffled his snowy white hair. He was surrounded by the sweet singing of "Silent Night" and people wishing each other a Merry Christmas. The smell of holly and pine filled the noisy air, and people ran back and forth loaded down with Christmas packages. Two little boys with homemade sleds were racing and screaming, headed for the little hill in use every year at this time.

No one seemed to notice the lonely, ragged old man who just barely dragged his feet homeward. Everyone seemed to have someone to wish a Merry Christmas to except old Casey.

Even now his little nephew and niece must be hanging their stockings by the fireplace, All, yes, the fireplace, glowing and crackling, and casting mysterious shadows on the walls. It made him feel warm and comfortable inside, but the thought soon vanished because he knew his own little room would be dark and icy cold, with nothing Christmasy about it.

Of course, he'd been invited for dinner, but they didn't really want him. They were just being kind. Yes, he could have been eating a delicious golden‑brown turkey with creamy mashed potatoes, juicy red cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, and all the other trimmings just steaming on silky‑white linen, but instead he'd just have the usual, a can of beans, and he'd read the same three‑year old newspaper he'd been reading every day. There would be no presents wrapped in colored paper and bright ribbons or the delicious smell of a Christmas dinner or the tangy fragrance of holly and pine. No, not in his bare, cold room, warmed only by two or three candles.

But he would be happy. He would go home and eat his bean and read his newspaper. Then he would once more put on his ragged, worn hat, but he would not be ragged and worn in God's eyes.

He could spend Christmas eve in the quiet peacefulness of the church with the candles flickering and marking the only light and the low sweet singing of a carol. It would seem like heaven with the angels singing.

Casey Porter would probably have the happiest Christmas in the world. He would never feel lonely or left out in God's holy company.