As I write this, it’s the day before Christmas Eve. Yesterday, I had to take care of an errand in connection with our plans to travel; that took me to the Department of Immigration. As I walked through the doors, I encountered a medium-sized room where people formed in a line along the right and other people sat in chairs to the left. One window on the left had a banner over it that said “Collections.” Straight ahead were three windows with no indication of their purpose. There were two numbering ticket systems, one for the right and the other for the left. I figured that collections referred to taking people’s money, so I pulled a ticket on the right. It read “343.”

I stood with about 12 other people, waiting. Once in awhile someone got up from the chairs to respond to the collections numbering system on the left. The people waiting on the three windows moved much more slowly. After some more time, I noticed some people from my church. For some reason, they did not need to remain, and since they had number “340,” I gladly accepted their gift of their ticket, stuffing number 343 into my pocket.

More time went by. Some more people came in, got forms, and left. Some more people came in to stand with me in line.

Outside on the streets around Hamilton the traffic was heavy - both on the streets and the sidewalks. People were out getting last minute shopping accomplished. The atmosphere was rather frantic. Some people were in a hurry to get somewhere, and they had to weave in and out of the bodies moving more slowly in the flow outside various stores. Occasionally, people saw friends and stopped to talk. They were like accidents on a busy highway; instead of cars backed up for miles, people clotted together on the sidewalks, and patience became a meagre commodity. After standing in line for about 40 minutes, they clicked the system and number 340 came up. I went to the window and told the person what I was trying do, but she told me I had come to the wrong window. I should have gone to the collections window. She suggested I step in front of other people there and tell them I’d been waiting, but I just decided to pull a ticket from the other numbering system and start over again.

In the meantime, I still had number 343 in my pocket. Behind me, a number of people entered the room, all in the same family. They looked around and quickly understood the nature of things. They had come from the clogged and clotted world of Hamilton streets and sidewalks to a room of sighs and tapping feet. As the numbering system called for number 343, I reached into my pocket and handed them the ticket. They marched right up to the front, got their business done in a couple of minutes while I chatted with the elderly gentleman among them, and then they turned to leave. They had smiles of gratitude on their faces, and we all wished one another a Merry Christmas. I felt happy. I didn’t care how much longer I had to wait in the line for collections. That line was not designed to take people’s money, after all, but for them to pick up documents prepared before hand. My friends from church had pulled a legitimate ticket, but given it to me, and I had pulled another legitimate ticket, but given it to someone else. No foul. My day had become better through giving.

Today is the day before Christmas Eve. We’re getting ready to leave tomorrow to fly to Georgia and spend a few days with my wife’s brother and his family. Today, we’re cooking a meal for someone who’s recently had an accident, and we’re having the pastor and his family over for lunch. Up the hill, an expat and his fiancé are moving their stuff out and leaving behind a few things for us to give away; she’s taking him back to Canada for the fairy-tale ending: “They lived happily ever after.”

So, let me take this opportunity to wish you all the same. I hope Christmas was a great time and that 2007 brings you fairytales coming true. May we find a way to give more and to become more gracious toward one another.