Christmas story


Christmas story is a special genre. I love a good Christmas story – warm, inspiring, sincere, with a touch of magic an a happy ending. Not exactly the story I want to share.

It was the end of 2000. We had got a beautiful white Christmas and the snow kept falling. My daughter and I just left a meeting and headed home –  a short walk in a quiet street between a rich neighbourhood and old city cemetery.  Walking arm in arm we didn’t hurry: no one was waiting for us at home. The evening was magic, and when I noticed two silhouettes in the end of the street moving towards us, I immediately knew they were a danger. My daughter felt the same way; we grew silent and kept walking because there were nowhere else to go.

It all happened suddenly and lasted just a few seconds. They pushed us hard and we fell into the pile of snow, One of them grabbed my purse and they run. You probably know that some people get killed for just a handful of change. I felt humiliated and lucky at the same time. At that moment I knew that there were a pair of glasses in that purse, nothing else. When we came home I realised that there was also my ID. We had to call the Police. Beautiful, quiet evening turned into a nightmare.

Every day we had to come to the Police station to be asked more questions. In the notorious picture album we spotted our guy, and were told that our episode is #6, and some people got kicked and beaten. We were lucky indeed.

They got caught after 3-4 days. One of the victims run behind them and called the Police on the run.  I got my ID back.

Then we had to go to the court. One of the guys, the one who was beating the victims,  got a year in jail as a juvenile,  and a 6 months probation.

Some days later we met his mother in the market.  We came over and told her that we were sorry she had to go through all of that. She cried. We became friends. Soon she joined the church; it gave her strength and helped to fight her loneliness. After a year her son came home, they both visited us and he said he was sorry. He joined the Church following his mother’s example. After 6 months of probation, he was involved in a robbery and was sentenced for three years, this time in an adult jail.

To be utterly honest, I don’t know if I would feel compassion towards him and his mother if he hurt my daughter. I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I am not a saint.

I remember this story every Christmas – the only Christmas story  I have been a part of.

I would love to be more compassionate and forgiving. God gave us the best gift – His beloved Son. This gift means that He loves us as imperfect as we are, and He will never give up on us. I guess, He expects us to never give up on our fellow beings too.

inesemjphotographyHave a happy weekend!


  1. I am like so many here reading a timeless story of crime and any hope for forgiveness or redemption long gone. So sorry, Inese. I am hoping this will always be your worst Christmas with no other ones left to show up. All after this bad memory be continuing to be thankfully safe and joyful holidays. ♡

    1. Thank you for reading! The thing is, that I am not sure that I would react the same way if he hurt my daughter. As I say, I am not a saint. Eventually I have lost any contact with them because we were so different that it started being surreal. That woman was losing her son but her focus was on something else.

      1. I probably need to re-read to say a more in depth reaction, Inese.
        None of us are saints nor do we have “nice” thoughts about those who are not safe nor nice. Parents are usually protective and like a Mama Bear protecting her cub. Hugs for this honest comment.

        1. Thank you! 🙂 I didn’t finish the story. I actually gave up on the family after two years. Had my own things to sort out, and I wasn’t ready to get involved forever. Most of people are just people, you know. Not heroes. But if everybody took a good care ONLY of their own, for starters – this world would flourish.

  2. Christmas love
    spreads joyfully to
    friends, new and old, as
    natural as mountain streams
    flow under

    ice and snow
    still moving, to join.
    comes from sharing a
    round table. Buddha

    Jesus, Confucius,
    Abraham, Gandhi
    and Luther invite a pope
    to break bread

    under one God
    that all pray to here
    in Gwangju,
    there in Amsterdam,
    and Davao, where the

    hunt for food
    and water reverts to old
    ways, not the
    usual Christmas,
    but children scramble

    for goodies
    like coconuts, fruit, rare meat
    while we feast
    on turkey, baked so
    well, spring rolls folded

    and rolled by
    hands so delicate you can’t
    what they’ve done. Merry
    Christmas everyone.

  3. Yes, a true Christmas story. I was assaulted a Christmas Day in Washington DC. Luckily the police arrived and took the guy away. Bizarre as I was only visiting for a few days and he punched me in the face (nothing serious but I didn’t look very pretty for a while). The police and people at the hospital were really nice but it didn’t make for a very good Christmas…(it was around midday too, so all was rather weird.) Anyway, we have all lived to tell the tale. You are right about the poor mother…Sometimes children might be victims of their families but sometimes, it seems as if nothing a family can do is going to make a difference…

    1. Thank you for your comment, Olga! What a horrible experience… And i would add, you are lucky there was no gun around… Some Christmas… I knew a family who were killed with an axe in the Easter morning, though…From one hand, I would want to blame the parents, because I know that parenting means a lot, but from the other hand, I know a mother who has three wonderful children, and one son who is in and out of jail, and is doing drugs. I think that when the drugs are involved, there is nothing and no one else to blame but the drug dealer, and the stupid first try…

      1. Happens with me too 🙂 Thank you for stopping by! I am going to visit all my favorite pages soon, and read everything I have missed. Thank you for everything, Sheri. You are a very special blogger friend to me.

  4. The best thing about this is you showed the courage and everything went pretty well. Life taught us many life lessons in many ways. I am glad you were there for your daughter. Happy Holidays! 🙂

    Be Bettr, Stay Bettr! 🙂

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