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In August 1948, I was stricken with paralytic polio and placed in an iron lung. I was seven months pregnant, but happily, I emerged from the "iron" prison before the birth of a fine son. A thoughtful relative who, unfortunately, lived a thousand miles away, travelled to Edmonton to take our son to her home. My husband and I did not see our baby again until six months later. In October, I quizzed the therapist: "Will I be home for Christmas?" The sad, negative look on her face conveyed the stark, unwelcome truth: "I'm sorry, Mrs. Pahl. You have many more months of rehabilitation."
The University Hospital in Edmonton was where polio patients were sent for rehabilitation. We knew no-one in Edmonton. However, a friend in another city wrote to her sister in Edmonton to look us up. The Olsens, a humble and poor family, insisted we spend Christmas at their house. (Patients were allowed a two-day pass during the festive season.) The Olsens gave up their bedroom for our convenience. We were all too poor to exchange gifts - my husband and I had been attending College for two years, so money was a scarce commodity. The Christmas menu included chicken and other goodies. Turkey was too expensive for the Olsens. I was not able to sit at a table; my meal was served to me in bed. They had a baby son, and we would take the baby on my bed and pretend it was our son.
We count this a memorable Christmas above all others. I was still alive! Thanks to the hospitality of our newly-found friends, there was "room in their inn" for us. What a sacrifice they made to take us into their home. There are very few people who will take in strangers, let alone someone who was completely bed-ridden. In ensuing years, I regained mobility through the use of crutches and wheelchair, but Christmas 1948 taught us life-long lessons: it is not gifts which make Christmas a season to remember - it is what we do for others. It is counting our blessings and having gladness in our hearts because of God's message of peace and joy even when the circumstances are distressing.
The above Christmas memory has been printed in several newspapers throughout the years. The kindness of the Olsen family has blessed hundreds of readers.
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