There are no wrong doors

I’m always dressed as Santa when I knock.

And as I deliver various gifts to needy families and individuals across Bristol near Christmastime each year, more than once this Santa has succeeded in accidentally knocking on the “wrong” door.

One year I knocked on the “wrong” door and an elderly lady - quite a bit older than me - answered. I had expected a young family. I apologized for bothering her, told her of my deliveries, and asked forgiveness for my mistake.

“Maybe you didn’t make a mistake,” she said. “Do you give away used clothes on your visits, if they’re nice?”

When I answered, “Yes,” her face morphed into a blend of deep sadness and great joy (perhaps life’s most strikingly beautiful “look”). Then she invited me in and reverently pointed toward several neatly folded stacks of clothes, all carefully placed on a nearby table. “These all belonged to my late husband. I’ve had them laid out here for weeks. But I can’t bring myself to give them away to just anybody. He served in the military. Do you know anybody who serves in the military who is about six feet tall and two hundred pounds and loves his wife and family dearly?”