Guest post by Steven Ballast
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. Looking back on my youth 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.
