A knock on the door. At 6:30? It's pitch black out, sleeting, we don't know anyone in the neighborhood and few people know our new address. A man in a Santa hat with a huge smile informs us that he has some Christmas items for us and wonders if he can bring them in. We nod in a kind of dumbfounded manner as I query, "Who are you?" He shrugs and smiles. Within minutes a flock of Santa hatted, smiling, singing people are walking in, wiping their feet and walking to the kitchen, loaded with boxes and bags of food. Turkey and ham and soup and fruit and candy and household products and lots more. They sing a carole, turn around and start filing out. Each one looks me in the eyes, wishes me a "Merry Christmas", touches my arm, smiles.
We stand at the window and wave and 4 car-loads of friends that we don't know wave back.
Overwhelmed, once again, by GRACE.
In the boxes a small pink note that says "Merry Christmas from the S.F. Ghosts of Christmas."
We are blessed. Beyond measure.