The More the Merrier

With no paycheck and two abandoned kids on our doorstep, we found new meaning in Christmas.

- Madison Rothchild

Our neighbor John Burns stood with his head down and a worn suitcase in each hand. A young boy with brown eyes and dark hair stood to his right. A fair-haired young girl stood to his left. 

“Wait, and I’ll get Ron,” I said. 

A few minutes later, I found my husband out back pruning apple trees. “John Burns is at the door. You better come.”

When we returned, I said, “John, tell Ron what you told me. I haven’t said a thing to him.”

With head still bowed, the man explained once again, “I just went through a very bad divorce. I lost my job. And I seriously don’t know what to do.”

He paused and cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you would take Brian and Amy. I don’t want them to end up in foster care again, and I couldn’t help noticing that your kids seem real happy.”

In the silence that followed, the world seemed to stop and hold its breath. Our neighbor stared at the ground. The children’s big, sad eyes were glued on my husband’s.

It was 3 weeks before Christmas 1980. Oregon was suffering yet another recession, and this man wasn’t the only one who’d lost his job. Ron had been laid off just before Thanksgiving.

“Well, I sure don’t see why not,” Ron replied in his easygoing way.

I felt like someone was standing on my chest. My heart pounded in my ears. But I didn’t say a word.