“Thanks. I'll definitely include a tip,” the passenger promised as he stepped out of the car and set off for the shopping mall. Khalid merely smiled, knowing that more than half of his clients usually forgot to keep their promise as soon as they had stepped out of his hired car. He didn't hold it against any of them; he knew what a fast-paced world we lived in. His phone pinged. It was another Uber passenger, this one a mere three minutes away from his current location. He quickly accepted the booking; at this time of the year, competition was brutal. Fortunately, he hadn't been doing too badly this month, but he was still behind with his rent. “Listen, raghead,” his landlord had told him that morning, using the derogatory label he often flung at Khalid, a refugee from Sudan. “If tonight you don't pay the full rent you owe me, expect to find your crap on the street tomorrow morning. I give you till ten tonight, you hear?” Khalid had remained silent, knowing that it would be useless to appeal to the man's sympathy, as he had none for “filthy job-stealing foreigners”. Khalid had resolved to get as many fares as he could today to make the payment. The client was a waif-like lady waiting outside Woolworths; she had a number of shopping bags surrounding her. Khalid hurriedly exited the car to load the bags into the back. “Thank you,” the woman beamed, clearly relieved for the help. “Every year I tell myself I won't leave things to the last minute,” she continued as she got into the passenger seat, “but inevitably, I end up doing exactly that.” “It's normal, isn't it?” Khalid said, instantly liking the woman's friendly nature. Laughing merrily, the woman said, “I doubt it's normal, but I suppose it's usual at this time of the year.” “True,” Khalid agreed. “It never ceases to surprise me how frantic people become at a time when they should have peace in their hearts.” “Absolutely true! We are so caught up in consumerism that we lose total sight of the real significance of this season. You don't celebrate this event, do you?” “No, I'm a Muslim, but we love and respect Jesus. He's a prophet in my religion, too.” “That's wonderful to know that you also love Him.” The woman kept up a light conversation with Khalid until they reached her destination. Before leaving, she added a tip on the phone app. “Thank you very much, ma'am,” Khalid said in genuine gratitude. The woman waved away his thanks. Khalid helped carry her bags to the front door, bid her a good night and got back into his car. He had hardly gone a few meters from her home when he noticed the small brown envelope on the passenger seat. “Oh, no. She's dropped something,” Khalid said before turning his car around to go back to the woman's house. She opened the door after his first knock, as if she had been expecting somebody. When she saw Khalid, she exclaimed, “You've found it then?” Khalid extended the envelope to her. “Yes, I knew it must be yours. I didn't open it,” he hastened to add. “But it's not mine,” the woman said, confusing Khalid. “It's yours.” “No, ma'am. It's definitely not mine,” Khalid stammered. “It is, young man. It's an annual tradition of mine, to gift somebody worthy on this holy night with such a gift. And I have a feeling there's none worthier right now than you. Please, keep it.” Khalid was flummoxed. “But why me? I'm nobody special.” “Oh, but you are. We are all special in our own way, and tonight I'm blessing you with this gift. I'm not taking it back; if you don't want to accept it, pass it on to somebody else.” “But I'm not a Christian, ma'am.” “So what? What kind of Christian would I be if I extended charity only to those of my own faith?” “God bless you,” Khalid managed to say over the lump in his throat. “God has blessed me, and that's exactly why I share this blessing each year at this time with some deserving stranger. Good night,” she said and closed the door of her brightly lit home from which peaceful sounds of a hymn flowed. Khalid walked back to the car like one dazed, expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. He couldn't fathom why he had been chosen for such an unexpected gift, but then he said, “Dear God, thank You for Your favors.” He still had no sure idea what the envelope contained, but he could feel it might be money. Khalid arrived at his flat at nine thirty. He nearly returned to the woman's house once he finally opened the envelope and saw how much cash it contained. It was enough to cover two months' rent. With tear-filled eyes, Khalid looked at the star-studded night sky, wonder bubbling up in his chest like the sweetest spring from which he had ever drunk. “You are a miracle in and of Yourself, and only You can orchestrate the best, most miraculous plans for Your worshippers.” With a far less burdened heart and soul, he went to see the landlord. Bliss spread across his joyous heart in continuous waves of wondrous rapture.

To Biopage contest THE PURPLE BIKE By Penny Robichaux-Koontz As told to H L Ford I had just taken over a condemned property in Texas, a homeless shelter in a rural area, pitch-black at night except for the light from a lonely, passing train. I had 42 youngsters and 30 adults staying with me in our shelter and no money. The only ornaments for the tree were those I had collected for my own children over the years until this year, 1991. As we were putting the tree up, the children were grumbling. “Miss Penny, how is Santa ever gonna find us out here in the dark?” I encouraged them to sing carols loudly when we heard a knock at the door. There stood the jolly old elf himself, Santa, in full red velvet and white fur trim. The children's eyes widened. I could have heard a snowflake drop. Santa leaned over to whisper, “I'm on my way to a Christmas party and heard you may need a Santa tonight.” “Thanks,” I answered in grateful amazement. He took a seat and talked with the children. Then, laying a finger aside of his nose, up the chimney he did not go but left through the door leaving big smiles behind him. I was delighted; however, as they shared the excitement of Santa's visit, to my dismay, I learned each child had asked Santa for a bike. Suddenly, the magic was gone and the reality of needing 42 bicycles settled on me. “How Lord, will I ever get that many bikes when just getting enough food is stretching my faith?” Articles appeared in the local paper, and people began to visit our shelter. They brought sweatshirts, warm clothing, blankets, and supplies. The word about our needs spread throughout the community. And yes! The bikes also started coming. We stored them in the secret workshop, where we assembled the new bikes at night while the children slept. Christmas morning came and the paper and ribbon flew amid laughter, singing, and a few tears of joy. And oh, the bikes…bikes everywhere! Emotionally spent and tired from playing Santa's helper all night, I headed outdoors to go to my room when I heard a child running behind me, calling “Miss Penny, Miss Penny!" Cedric, a precious little five-year-old boy caught up, his cheeks streaked with tears. I got down on my knees. “Why are you crying, honey?” “Miss Penny, I didn't git me no bike!” Dismayed, I thought, how could we have been off by one bike?! Thinking quickly, I said, “Cedric, did you ask Jesus for a bike?” “No, Miss Penny. I asked Santa Claus.” “Well, that explains it,” I said. “Santa is only a one- Day-a-year wonder. But Jesus, He is our Gift from heaven and He is also our gift-giver, not just one time a year, but today and every day. He loves you and hears you when you pray. You know He is the reason we celebrate this day, so let's talk to Him." With that, Cedric made quite a noisy plea to Jesus for a purple bike someday soon. “Amen!” Struggling to get up off my knees, I saw a pickup truck coming up the dirt drive toward us. The driver pulled to a halt, throwing Texas dust all around. “Are you Miss Penny?” he asked, stepping out of the cab. “That's me,” I said, “Can I help you?” “I'm sorry to be so late. My wife and I planned to be here yesterday,” he said while lifting a bike out of the truck bed. He placed a purple two-wheeler on the drive right in front of Cedric, whose eyes widened with amazement. “Hope you can use a bike like this. Sorry, I was late,” he grinned. I never got the name of that man. A great woman of faith that I am, I stood there speechless as I watched God make Himself absolutely real to a very excited little boy. That moment is as fresh in my heart and mind today as it was that 1991 Christmas. I had only been out of the wheelchair a short time then and had wanted to say "thank you, Lord" for healing my body from the paralysis of childhood polio. From that moment I was on my way to faith adventures with thousands more children over the years who came and went from Jacob's House a home for children in need of rescue. Like little Cedric, I was also on my way to many more miracles as I watched these children grow. Penny Roubichaus-Koontz has now retired from ministering at Jacob's House, but she never tires of sharing her faith, her joy, and her stories of God's children.

A couple of weeks ago, I went on a holiday to France. Apart from doing some writing there, I wanted to visit the breathtaking and miraculous Lourdes. It was one of the most memorable moments of my life. I went alone and so, not only was it an overwhelming experience, but it also grew into a learning expedition. I stayed there for 13 days. Life is never predictable I can tell you. Even with all the careful planning, there will be a surprise or two in store for you. So, I guess we must always be ready to face all kinds of consequences and situations, take it within our stride and pray that in the end, all goes well, just as it did for me. I am putting together a series of videos about my visit to iconic France and I hope you will join me by subscribing to my channel to be updated on my journey there. Here's the link to my latest video: St.Bernadette and Me. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ezh3zoPKm-0 Christmas is coming around really fast too. It is always a beautiful, magical month and somehow there is always the light of advent to take you through the season with smiles and extra love. Wishing you a great month of advent. Shobana

I had sat for 20 minutes without noticing any change. The sun was harsh, and it made most of the others I sat with stone faced. A lot were minding their business while a few were already getting into lively conversations and it seemed like I was the only one still in a certain confusion. How is this process organized? I grew up an inquisitive child. You tend to pick up a mind that's always keen on knowing how things worked; when you are born into a strict home where going to play with others is considered a felony and a conversation with a stranger is a crime, but you also somehow owed everyone older than you a greeting. I always welcomed opportunities to learn and I became more introverted and rebellious with the increasing amount of time I had to spend in my head. As I got older, I got super shy, being able to ask a stranger a question was Christmas, and to keep the conversation was Santa's gifts wrapped and tied with red ribbons, so I was mostly left with one person to always talk to, me. I however mastered the art of soliloquy, which never really seemed to work with the ladies. The things that conversations with myself taught me were patience, optimism and how to tear my toys apart to know what made the car move, and to understand the mechanism behind the water gun. I always felt there was no one I could really ask about what bothered me, the adults didn't exactly think. They never seemed to have any answers to my unending questions. Once, my uncle and I were given a bowl of rice with a single piece of fish and meat. When we were done eating, he took the meat and at my protest, he had to convince me. “Fish is better than meat and has more nutrients” he had said, but after a pause my 4 year old self replied, “If that is the case, then why are you eating the meat and not the fish?”. I had once reasoned that if everyone else brought their requests to God in the morning and night, then it would be smarter to come at a time when many people will be busy. A time when he would be quite lonely and in need of company. I could totally relate with God, he was one person I felt wasn't also allowed to go out and play with others, and they never really cared about his opinion too. So just like me he learnt to soliloquize, like he does so well with the contrasting mixture of mute lightening and deafening thunder. Little wonder why storms never scared me. Like when I lost my dad to the cold bullets encouraged by an assassins' ability to use his index finger. Who for some reasons felt I didn't deserve to have any parent at 19. He must have had the same take on the issue as some relatives, “you are now a man” they said. Or when I lost my mum who succumbed to illness leaving behind a 6 year old. On both occasions though, I didn't shed a single tear. Not because I was a man, but because in my head we had talked and agreed that crying will not help make the situation any better. Living most of your childhood in your head and most of your adult life struggling alone, certain things no longer faze you. So when I got a call from my Network provider that my SIM card which I had registered some 10 years ago was no longer registered in my name, I was not shocked. I mean, you will think that being a faithful customer for that long would at least count for something. “We have reshuffled registration”, whatever that meant in English, and I was told that if I didn't go to their office to repair a damage that they had caused, in 4 days, I would be barred from using any of their services. I had woken up that morning reluctantly but patiently bullying myself through the whole preparations that humans have deemed necessary for mixing with a crowd; Bathe, brush, dress up (I wonder who made these rules) optimistic that by the end of the day, I will own my SIM once again. I had tried to work out the meaning of reshuffling registration in my head for 3 days now with no success. So I put on my face mask, and set out not knowing that life had planned another lesson to teach. As I sat watching people go in and out of their office, trying to connect the dots on what has been happening to no avail; I turned to the lady beside me. She had eyes that reminded me of Angelina Jolie. A constellation that drowns you with a wave of its reflection. Like a sea and with just as much surface tension. Yes, I have a thing for eyes. So since I was confused and she had those galaxies on her face, I tried to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone. I will get direction on what to do, and start a conversation. I asked her how the process was organized, to which she chuckled, pointed to a paper and said “put down your name”, after which she turned back to her phone. Being very teachable, I learnt from that moment, that there were simple things of life that even the smartest person can only grasp by gleaning from the experiences of others. So for me today Christmas came but without Santa's gifts.

To all my friends, followers, readers, and reviewers. To all of you who got in touch with me in this year and to all of you who will read this. I wish you all the best for the holidays and many days after. I wish you to spend them with the people you love and who give you their unconditional love; surrounded with warmth, happiness, kindness and with no worry on your mind. Whether you spend them with your family, friends or alone, let them be full of all good things that make this life worth living. I don't have big plans for the end of this year. I will work on my book, read books from my huge reading list, spend time at home with my parents and my online friends. I like to keep it quiet, cozy and relaxing, doing things I like best, because books are my addiction. This passion keeps burning inside me no matter what time of day or year. My other passion is spreading kindness and compassion to and for those in need, especially animals. Even in times of celebration and holidays I will keep thinking on them, wishing I can do more for them to ease their misery and suffering. There are days when being a vegan doesn't seem enough, when I feel I can do and should do more like jump in the catastrophic fires that are devastating Australia and be a protective shield between devouring flames and animals and people losing their lives and homes there. And it's not only Down Under. It's like that all over our beautiful planet! Do you sometimes feel the same? Do you feel bad, frustrated and angry seeing our planet going from bad to worse as it spins madly toward the cataclysm, and those in power to make a change do nothing or ignore it? They have the power, yes, but they are not the only ones. We have the power too, you and me. If we do something on our small personal level, things will move forward. And if others join us, we can do bigger, greater things. We can change the world, I firmly believe that. So, why not start now, during these holidays? Why not end this year and begin a new year with small acts of kindness? It's actually very simple. Having a plant-based Christmas dinner or New Year's party can mean a lot to animals who suffer, and it won't cost us anything. It will open our windows to the world of new flavors and smells, the best ones being kindness, compassion, and empathy. Those are the flavors I enjoy for 18 years already and they feel so good. The best things I've ever tasted! You'd give me a great joy if you tried them too and let me know how you liked them. One thing is certain: they get better with time because the more we taste them the more we heal our planet. It's the best natural cure our Earth can get from us. And, to be honest, it needs it! Thank you for spreading love and kindness, thank you for having a big and compassionate heart. Thanks for all good things you will do for others in the last moments of this year and for good things you will continue doing in 2020. Hopefully, it brings us all many memorable and pleasant moments, happiness, good health, and great books. Much love and my very best wishes! BJ Source: https://www.bernardjan.com/single-post/2019/12/20/My-Very-Best-Wishes-with-Hopes-for-a-Happier-World

Ebenezers Christmas.. Looking back on my files from a number of years ago I was reminded of a Christmas poem competition that I entered. As is my practice I came about the theme from an obtuse angle, the result being based upon a Christmas as enjoyed, or not so, by Ebenezer Scrooge. Needless to say I didn't win. However so many friends and colleagues that read the work enjoyed it so much that I decided to publish it on Youtube as an animated video. Given the impending festive times, feel free to give this a watch if you feel in need of an antidote to merriment. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jQSVfuqTUno

Christmas was always my mom's favorite holiday. Personally, mine was Halloween and it still is. My mom would make all our favorite Christmas dishes. From roast pig to coquito (spanish egg nog) to meat pies. Making the meat pies was the most fun. Having such a big family we would create an assembly line. Each of us in charge of a specific part of putting the meat pie together. The youngest in the family got the last position since it was the easiest. All they had to do was count all of them and keep track of how many were made. It was usually between 200-300 meat pies. As far as gifts were concerned, most of the living room furniture was taken out because of the abundance of presents. Now, there wasn't much money for decorating. That is until my mother discovered the 99 cents store. She had lights and garland and elves and new ornaments. In fact, our tree had more ornaments than the tree at Rockefeller Center. They dated back to the fifties all the way through the current Christmas. Ornaments of all shapes and sizes and themes. Of course the main attraction was a porcelain baby Jesus that had been in our family since my parents got married back in 1948. Unfortunately, it was stolen during that Christmas. It stayed covered under the tree until Christmas Eve and would be uncovered only after my parents danced to the family Christmas song, “El Burrito de Belen”. That's when the festivities would start. None of us knew that the Christmas of 1997 would be the last one my mom would be celebrating with us. Or that it would be 5 years before we celebrated Christmas again. Our mom fell ill the following year and wound up in ICU on a respirator in August of 1998. We were close friends with our local Assembly Woman and she arranged for one of us to be with our mom 24/7. My mom was never alone. We knew she wouldn't be leaving the hospital. She passed 10 days before her birthday and 3 months before their 50th anniversary. With her gone my family was not in the mood to celebrate Christmas. We didn't feel right doing it without our mom. Although we exchanged presents there were no lights and decorations. All of us had agreed that we'll know when it was time to celebrate again. For 5 years this went on. Until I came across something that let me know that it was time. In the store window was a porcelain baby Jesus almost identical to the one that was stolen. I bought it and snuck it under the tree. I put a note on it for my older sister to find. It simply read “It's time we celebrate again”. Nobody objected. This time around we felt it was right to put up all the lights and the decorations. Before my mom passed she told my other sister “Don't worry. All of you will be ok.” All i can say is, like always, she was right. We were all going to be ok.