By Saralee Perel
Thirty-three years ago, a young girl made Christmas cookies for the very first time in her life. All of the cookies came out of the oven looking beautiful . . . except for one.
As she picked up the misfit cookie to put it in the trash, she suddenly stopped and looked at it closely in her hand. Something about throwing it away simply because it was misshapen didn't feel right to her. "Just because something is different," she thought, "doesn't mean it no longer belongs anywhere."
So she kept the cookie. She even made up a word for it. She called it a woodle. With colorful paints, she gave it a face. This made it seem almost alive. The girl decided not to tell anyone about this new treasure. Late that night when the others were asleep, she sat by the light of an old oil lamp and wrote this story.
A Christmas Tale
There once was a lonely woodle,
sad as sad can be.
It knocked on doors, saying to all,
"Can you find a purpose for me?"
Christmas Eve was coming soon.
He always spent it alone.
But on this Christmas Eve, he put on his gloves
and set out to the street where he'd roam.
As usual folks would slam their doors
saying, "I have no use for you."
So he'd brush off the snow and try again,
but others would slam their doors too.
Soon he was ready to give up all hope
of finding a reason to be.
He walked down the street with his head hung low.
"I think it's all over for me."
But then he saw a magical house.
On the door there were ribbons and pine.
There were little dog prints throughout the yard.
"I guess I'll try one more time."
From the chimney came smoke that smelled so good.
Through the window he saw a tree
that sparkled and glowed with love and warmth.
"Oh, what a fine family!"
Popcorn and berries bedecked the tree.
His eyes filled with tears just to gaze.
"Boy, would I like to be part of this home
and be loved for the rest of my days."
The husband and wife came to the door.
"Oh I know they'll have no place for me."
But the woodle was taken into the home
and brought forth for the family to see.
And then he was given a most special gift.
They gave him a reason to be.
For the husband and wife loved him so . . .
that they placed him on top of their tree.
This was written by me when I was 25 years old. I was celebrating the first Christmas of my life, in 1977. It was the year I married my Christian husband, Bob.
I presented the poem to him that Christmas Eve. Bob had not known about the misshapen cookie. When he had finished reading the poem, I pointed to the top of our tree, where just moments earlier, I had put the woodle.
For thirty-three Christmases, the woodle has had its special place on top of our Christmas tree, where it has certainly found a reason to be.
To me, a special message of the season is this: It is not just our duty; it's our privilege to make room at the inn. On the very first Christmas, one individual grew to help millions. By helping even one person in need, we never know what that person will accomplish, once given a chance to belong.
And of finding a reason to be.
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