We all seem to know some 鈥楤ah, Humbug鈥� people at this time of year. You know, the grouches, the Grinches, the people who tell us they could care less about the Christmas season.

鈥淚t鈥檚 a big noisy waste of time and money,鈥� they will tell us. I often wonder what happened in their past that makes them so jaded and uncaring.  For instance, the innkeeper in the Christmas story. This guy tells a pregnant lady she has to go sleep in the barn and we have to wonder why he doesn鈥檛 have a little compassion.

But everybody has a story. Maybe his was something like this.

鈥淏olt the door, Mother, it is late and all the rooms are full.鈥� He turned to blow out the candle on the window ledge when he saw two figures approaching. The woman was riding a donkey and in the soft light of the bright star it looked like Martha, his daughter.

鈥淲ait,鈥� he said to his wife. 鈥淭here鈥檚 someone coming down the trail, a man and a young woman. He tried to contain his excitement as he opened the door and held the candle high.

鈥淕ood evening innkeeper, are we in time for a room?鈥�

The innkeeper moved past him and felt his heart skip as he lifted the candle to the young girl鈥檚 face. At first he was certain it was his daughter. She had forgotten his harsh words and had returned to forgive him. Those words had flown like an arrow from a bow and, once released, he couldn鈥檛 stop them before they had hit their mark and wounded her deeply. If he could only have them back, if only she would come home.

Then she smiled from the folds of her cloak. Suddenly she looked more like his mother or even his grandmother, but it was not his daughter. She lowered her head as she recognized the look of disappointment on his face.

The innkeeper turned back to the man and shook his head.鈥淓veryone is here to be taxed, we have no room for you, move on.鈥�

鈥淏ut sir, we have travelled far and my wife is pregnant, due anytime. She needs to rest.鈥�

鈥淣ot my problem,鈥� the innkeeper replied, closing the door.

Just before the latch caught, the pale light from that strange star moved across the young girl鈥檚 face. She pulled the hood back from her head and smiled at him again.

鈥淪ir, if I may,鈥� she whispered, 鈥淵our daughter is well, she is happy but lonely, and most of all she has food and shelter, you need not worry about her.鈥�

She pulled her hood back up against the cool night air.

The innkeeper鈥檚 wife began to sob quietly and sank into the chair by the fire. The innkeeper鈥檚 shoulders sagged; he steadied himself against the door post, then looked up at the young man.

鈥淵ou go around back to the barn, the manger is clean and dry, and I鈥檒l bring out some bread and a flask in a bit.鈥�

The young girl smiled and nodded to him, and as her husband led the donkey away, the light in the sky grew brighter.

We don鈥檛 always know what personal burdens people  might be carrying at this time of year, Don鈥檛 question, just smile, wish them a Merry Christmas and say a silent prayer.

Let them know there is always room for them at your inn. At least that鈥檚 what McGregor says.