I no longer buy the facts of the trek-to-Bethlehem story.

Seriously. How could any governmental agency in those days keep records to show that Joseph’s hometown was Bethlhem. And why would he have to load a very pregnant Mary on a donkey to accompany him? Bethlehem was certainly not her hometown and I doubt that women needed to be counted anyway.

So, the facts may be wrong, but the legend and the lessons are much truer than facts.

On Christmas morning, I drove the dogs across town to run in a field they love. On the way, I saw so many homeless people huddled under tarps or in tents. The largest group was under the noisy interstate overpass, trying to stay dry.

I thought it would be disrespectful to take pictures, so I downloaded this one.

I never give cash to needy people. I bought a bunch of coffee-kiosk-gift cards early in December. By Christmas day, they were all gone and I never had enough for the groups I saw that morning. I felt a little bit like an obnoxious Lady Bountiful handing them out anyway.

There are no easy answers to this disgraceful situation. I often think, “There but by the grace of God and a good divorce lawyer go I.”

And here I sit at 1880 with three unoccupied bedrooms. I know inviting homeless people to share my home is not the answer, but still, I feel guilty.

Where are wisemen bringing gifts?