“I Think You Need A Hug…” Said The Little Girl To The Young Homeless Woman At The Church Steps
A Moment of Compassion
The snow fell softly on Christmas Eve, each flake catching the warm glow from the stained glass windows of St. Catherine’s Church.
The old stone building sat on a corner in the downtown district, a landmark that had stood for over a hundred years while the city grew and changed around it.
The evening service had just ended and families were streaming out into the winter night. They were bundled in coats and scarves, heading home to their celebrations.
On the side steps of the church, away from the main entrance where most people passed, sat a young woman. She watched the happy families with an expression that held no bitterness, only a quiet sadness.
Her name was Anna, though most people who passed her on the street didn’t bother to ask.
She was 23 years old with long blonde hair that needed washing and a thin beige dress that was completely inadequate for the winter cold.
Her feet were bare despite the snow, her shoes having fallen apart 2 weeks ago. She had nowhere warm to go when the shelter beds filled up, which they always did around the holidays.
Anna had been homeless for 8 months since the series of misfortunes that had started with her mother’s death.
It had cascaded into job loss, eviction, and the slow erosion of everything she’d once thought was stable in her life.
She’d tried the shelters, the assistance programs, and the job applications. She’d tried staying positive and staying hopeful.
But winter was hard and Christmas was harder.
Tonight she sat on the cold church steps because at least the building blocked some of the wind and the light from the windows made her feel less alone.
She heard the child before she saw her. A small voice, bright and curious, broke through the adult conversation happening nearby.
“Daddy, why is that lady sitting in the snow?”
Anna looked up and saw a little girl, maybe 3 years old, with blonde pigtails and a red coat that looked like something from a story book.
The child was pointing at Anna with the unself-conscious directness of someone too young to have learned that it’s rude to point.
“Emma, don’t point,” said a man’s voice and Anna saw him then.
He was probably in his early 30s, tall and well-dressed in a dark coat and suit with dark hair and the kind of face that suggested he was used to being in control of situations.
He held the little girl’s hand and his expression when he looked at Anna was complicated. It was concern mixed with something that might have been discomfort or pity.
“But Daddy, she doesn’t have shoes,” the little girl said, her voice rising with distress. “And it’s snowing.”
“I know sweetheart,” the man said gently. “But we need to get to Grammy’s house for dinner. Come on.”
But the little girl Emma pulled her hand free. Before her father could stop her, she’d run over to where Anna sat on the steps.
Up close Anna could see that Emma’s eyes were blue and full of empathy that seemed too mature for someone so small.
“Hi,” Emma said. “I’m Emma. What’s your name?”
Anna swallowed hard, unused to being spoken to like a person rather than an obstacle. “I’m Anna.”
“Are you waiting for someone?” Emma asked. “Is your family coming to get you?”
“No,” Anna said quietly. “I don’t have family.”
Emma’s face crumpled with sadness. “No family? Not even for Christmas?”
Anna shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
Emma looked at Anna for a long moment, her small face serious. Then she said with the simple wisdom of a child, “I think you need a hug.”
And before Anna could respond, before she could say that it was okay that Emma didn’t need to worry about her, the little girl had stepped forward. She wrapped her small arms around Anna’s neck.
Emma smelled like cookies and baby shampoo and her hug was fierce and warm. Anna felt something break open inside her chest.
She’d been so strong for so long, keeping her emotions locked down because showing vulnerability on the streets was dangerous.
But this unexpected kindness from a child she didn’t know undid her completely. She found herself crying into Emma’s red coat.
The little girl patted her back and said, “It’s okay. It’s okay to be sad sometimes.”
The man, Emma’s father, had reached them by then. Anna looked up at him through her tears, expecting to see disapproval or disgust.
Instead, she saw her own emotions reflected back at her. The man’s eyes were bright with tears he was trying to hold back.
“I’m sorry,” Anna said quickly, gently disentangling herself from Emma’s hug. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“No,” the man said, his voice rough. “Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should apologize.”
“I was going to walk past,” he said. “I was going to take my daughter to a warm house with too much food and too many presents, and I was going to walk past someone sitting barefoot in the snow on Christmas Eve.”
He crouched down beside Emma and Anna. Anna noticed his expensive shoes getting wet in the snow, but he didn’t seem to care.
“My name is Michael,” he said. “Michael Crawford. And my daughter is right; you need more than a hug, but it’s a good start.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
Anna tried to remember. “Yesterday, I think. The mission had lunch.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.”
“We’re going to my mother’s house for Christmas dinner,” he continued. “There’s always way too much food and she always sets extra places because she says, ‘You never know who might need a seat at the table.'”
“Today that seat is for you,” Michael said. “Will you come?”
Anna stared at him. “I can’t. I’m… Look at me. I’m dirty, I don’t have shoes, I can’t go to your mother’s house for Christmas dinner.”
“You can, you will,” Michael said firmly. “Emma’s right; nobody should be alone on Christmas, and my mother would be furious with me if I left you here. So please come with us.”
Anna wanted to refuse. She had her pride, what was left of it, but she was so cold and so tired.
Emma was looking at her with such hope that she found herself nodding. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Michael took off his coat and wrapped it around Anna’s shoulders. Then he picked her up before she could protest.
“You’re not walking barefoot through the snow,” he said simply.
Emma held on to Anna’s hand as they walked to Michael’s car. It was a sleek vehicle that was warm inside and smelled like leather and pine air freshener.
