So here we are. It’s Christmas time. The shopping malls are filled to capacity with the rude and inconsiderate. Santa is everywhere, spreading is suspicious benevolent good cheer. Stockings are hung by the chimney with care. Sugarplums are flying off the shelf in an effort to populate children’s dreams, replacing the new terrors they’ve been introduced to. The Salvation Army is out in force, ringing bells and collecting for the less fortunate.

Hold on. I want to talk about that. “The Less Fortunate.” Let us consider this for a moment. To say that one is “less fortunate” is to imply that they simply are missing a few key elements that would make their lives whole again. For example, if you compare someone like Bill Gates to myself, I am less fortunate. If you then compare my family to that of a single mom who works two jobs in some industry, then she is less fortunate than I am.

And yet I think of a man a co-worker of mine met recently. A member of her church encountered a man at the cemetery while she was visiting her mother’s grave. He was at the grave of his wife sobbing uncontrollably. He’s about eighty years old. This summer his house was broken into. The intruders killed his wife of over fifty years. He has no friends or family in St. Louis, no one to spend the holidays with him. This is a man who is truly alone. He doesn’t feel safe at home anymore. He’s terrified to leave his home. He has no one to share his stories with. Even if he were wealthy, as I sit and look at my healthy and large family, I can’t help but think he’s less fortunate. He may be able to put food on his table but he seems to have lost his reason to do so. It tears out my heart.

I can’t imagine a loss of that sort. To lose your entire world. No, not to lose it . . . to have it forcibly removed from you in a violent fashion. To look at your fading years and know that you will be alone. That the one person whom you dedicated your life to has been taken from you. To wake up in the morning and realize there is nothing holding you here anymore. To know that everything you held dear . . . is gone.

So, why am I writing this instead of my usual self-serving goofiness? Because it’s Christmas. And I think we tend to get lost in the excitement over gifts and lights and trees and freakish reindeer with nasal issues. Sometimes we forget that there’s more to being “less fortunate” than not being able to pay a heating bill (not to diminish the severity of the problems that many low-income families have, nor how difficult their lives are).

I guess what I’m saying is that many people suffer in silence, alone. They have no recourse for their needs. They’ve lost their faith in the world. They don’t feel safe.

So, this year, in addition to helping out with your money, or just volunteering your time at a soup kitchen, take a look around your own neighborhood. See who is suffering around you. Bake some brownies for the elderly neighbor across the street. Don’t just drop them off; spend a few hours with her. Find out when she got married. Where is she from? What are her interests?

You’ll be amazed. Many of these poor, lonely souls have better stories to tell than any John Grisham novel or episode of Touched By An Angel. And these stories are just waiting to be told. Don’t let them become a forgotten past on an anonymous face. Just listen. It may just be the best Christmas gift you give all year.

And who knows? Maybe you’ll make a friend.