We find the Savior in the most ordinary of circumstances on the most unexpected of days.
By Father Dan Dorsey

Father Dan Dorsey

It was a Friday morning. I could sense that it was going to be another hot and humid July day, but the cool mist of the night was still clinging to the hills that engulfed West Liberty, a tiny Eastern Kentucky town.

The year was 1978 and I was living in the back of a trailer that served as the residence and church for Prince of Peace mission. I had just finished the morning dishes when the phone rang. I was startled because its sudden sound shattered the stillness of the trailer. A phone call—aside from a wrong number—was infrequent and surprising.

A man immediately identified himself as David Rowe. Hesitating, the stranger awkwardly explained that he and his family were passing through town, were broke and could I possibly help them out?

With a little skepticism, I responded that I’d help them out, but first, I said, I’d like to meet and talk with him. Dave directed me to the only motel in town.

Less than 15 minutes later I knocked at room #27. A young, stoutly built man opened the door. After we exchanged handshakes and introductions, Dave introduced me to his wife, Jane, and their children, Jodie age 3 and Janie age 1. It was clear that Jane was ashamed and confused by the experience. It was also evident that she was pregnant and the birth of their third child was only weeks or days away.

The family was traveling from Mobile, Ala., to West Virginia where Dave had the promise of a job. Their pickup truck, that only a couple of days earlier had cost $200, broke down the previous night and they spent most of the family’s money to get it repaired. What little remained of the family savings was spent on the night’s lodging—all he had left were a quarter and two pennies. He asked me hesitantly if I could buy some food for the family and gas for the truck.

We sat on the edge of the bed and talked. At such a young age, Dave had encountered many of life’s harshest realities. His eyes spoke of the pain and frustration of a man looking for and unable to find work to support his family.

I spent about an hour and a half with Dave and Jane and their kids. We bought some food. I filled the truck’s gas tank and I gave him a little money to help him on his way. It was about mid-morning when the family crammed into the cab of the crimson truck and headed east on Highway 7.

It has been almost 30 years and I still think back on that July day—I can vividly recall the heat and the sweat trickling down my neck and I remember watching the truck as it slowly passed from sight.

While this story may seem unusual, it isn’t. It was an ordinary, everyday incident that occurs routinely in the ministry of any Glenmary priest, brother or coworker.

Why do I still recall the incident? Why did it make such a deep impression? Because that day I learned a valuable lesson: Christmas—the coming of the Savior into our lives—occurs under the most ordinary of circumstances on the most unexpected of days.

So to this day I remember Dave and Jane and their family and wonder what happened to them. My thoughts often turn to Joseph and Mary: of their journey and their embarrassed and bewildered expressions, of their poverty, of the unborn Savior.

And I ask myself a question. When there is a knock at my door or my phone rings today will I welcome the Holy Family and the Savior?