Easing through the basement window of 1A, Barnaby scanned the room and almost slipped back out again. The floors were bare and no holly or tinsel adorned the room. An old sofa sat in the middle of the sitting room and a scratched table covered with chipped dishes decorated the corner.
Maybe they’re the kind who like to sock it away for a rainy day. He crept over to the bedroom door, inched open the door, and peeked inside at the bed. A muffled snore came from a form surrounded by three smaller shapes hidden by a worn blanket. Looking closer, Barnaby saw a thin bedraggled woman and three children—two skinny but well-scrubbed boys with dark hair and a little towheaded girl with her thumb in her mouth and her arms wrapped around a scruffy teddy bear.
A waste of my valuable time. At a sniffle from one of the children, Barnaby froze, his burglar instincts halting his breath. The little girl sighed, rolled over, and slept on. Barnaby closed the door and stepped back into the sitting room. Must be the Super’s apartment. Barnaby scanned the room again. Even Supers have piggy banks. A row of pictures caught his attention above the cold fireplace. A few silver frames would round out my pickings quite nicely. He slid across the floor. He picked up the first photograph. A family of five smiled out at him. Cheap silvered metal, what else? Barnaby set down the frame and examined the others. In the second, a scrawny infant lay on a blanket flanked by two toddlers with short curls. The third displayed a tall man and a smiling woman dressed for a wedding. In the last photo, the woman and children stood alone at a train station.
Papa must have taken this one. Barnaby returned it to the mantle. Funny, he hadn’t noticed any evidence of a papa in 1A. No pipe rack on the mantle. No boots by the door. The one bed that Mama and the kids overflowed. The chipped dishes caught Barnaby’s eye. One, two, three, four, Barnaby counted. Looks like Papa skipped town. Can’t blame him for running from a dump like this. Something in the center of the table caught his eye. He stepped over for a closer look. A ceramic Nativity set stood among the cracked dishes. A chipped and faded angel looked down into the manger holding the baby Jesus, one arm broken off at the elbow. Mary, with a smudged face, tenderly looked down at her child who had not a wisp of hay to warm him. A shepherd with a three-legged sheep stood off to one side.
Looks like Joseph skipped town too, Barnaby noted. The Wise Men must have been too smart to stop here too. The town clock chimed. Three o’clock and all’s well –- for some of us anyway. Barnaby glided across the room and out the window. Picking up the heavy bags he’d stowed behind the trash cans in the alley, Barnaby tipped his hat to 106 King’s Ave. and strolled off into the shadows.
“A good night’s work,” he purred. The beat cop swung around the corner and rattled the doorknob of 106. Satisfied, he sauntered off to the next brownstone. Barnaby snickered from the safety of the shadows.
Waiting: Luke 1:68 May the Lord God of Israel be blessed indeed! For God’s intervention has begun, and He has moved to rescue us, the people of God. (The Voice)
Challenge: Are you waiting for something? The Jews had been waiting for generations for the Messiah. The wisest of men predicted a conquering king. No one expected to find a king in a manger. God’s intervention has begun. Slow down today. Look for God’s intervention in your life.
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