My life has not been easy by any means.  Some of it I did myself, some of it was at the hands of my birth mother.  I have forgiven her but forgiving myself came much harder.  As Christmas approaches, I can’t help but to think back on the first Christmas I spent with my foster family.

I moved in just before Christmas.  I was born Catholic so we didn’t open presents until Christmas day.  They opened their presents on Christmas eve and then Santa came that night.  I didn’t touch my presents.  Then Christmas morning came and I stayed in bed.  They kept calling me to come see what Santa had brought me.  I was 15 years old and what they didn’t know was I had never gotten a Christmas present much less had Santa bring me anything before.

I didn’t know how to act.  I didn’t know what to do.  These people had given me something I had never had, a real Christmas and they didn’t even know it.  I was ashamed that I had nothing to give them in return.  I was ashamed that I was given presents when I had done nothing to earn them.  I was ashamed to be treated as a part of their family when I didn’t consider myself as anything to them.

They showed me more love in just two days than I had ever had in my lifetime.  I found the spirit of giving in their home.  I found a family, a home, and most of all, love with perfect strangers.