Two days after our Christmas distribution wrapped up, a grandfather walked through our doors carrying two large bags of toys.
He knew he was late. The toy store happened on December 20, and this was the 22nd. Still, he hoped there was some way the gifts could be used. He explained that he had taken his grandchildren shopping for “kids who didn’t have as much.” They picked out the toys themselves. And more than anything, he wanted to be able to tell them that their generosity mattered.
What he didn’t know was that, just moments earlier, a father had come in for groceries.
The man was exhausted. His mother had recently passed away, and between grief and funeral arrangements; he had missed deadlines—deadlines for help, deadlines for Christmas. He knew he was too late for the toy distribution, but he asked anyway. His young son wasn’t going to have much of a Christmas, and his world already felt like it was unraveling.
Deb – one of our incredible volunteers – had heard both stories. She knew the father was still shopping for groceries when the grandfather arrived. With permission, she quietly carried those bags of toys from one side of the building to the other.
Gifts chosen by children who had never known hunger were placed into the hands of a father desperate to provide for his son—even as he was burying his own mother.
When it was over, there were tears. There were smiles. There was relief. There was a spirit of love and sacrifice – a Christmas spirit – in its purest form.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t on a schedule. But it was exactly what needed to happen.
Because sometimes, even when we think we’re too late—God isn’t.