**A Christmas Star for Mr J**

The streets were lit with the warm glow of Christmas lights, and carolers’ voices filled the air with joy. But for Mr J, it was another cold December. Three years had passed since he last felt the magic of Christmas. The lights, the music, the laughter—they seemed like distant echoes of a time that no longer belonged to him. He missed the warmth of family, the togetherness that Christmas was supposed to bring. Now, it was just him, his two cats, and a lot of quiet. He began to think he was gonna become like Mr Scrooge all alone.

It was on one of those quiet nights, as Mr J sat by the window watching snowflakes dance outside, that a soft knock startled him. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He opened the door to find a small child standing in the cold, bundled up in a too-big coat, holding a paper star in their tiny hands.

“Hi,” the child said softly, “Are you Mr J?”

Confused, but kind-hearted as always, Mr J nodded. “Yes, I am. What’s your name?”

“Lilia,” she replied, her eyes wide and innocent. “My mom said I could give you this.” She held up the paper star, its edges crinkled but full of care.

Mr J took the star gently from her hand, his heart softening at the simple gesture. “Thank you, Lilia,. But why are you giving this to me?”

Lilia shuffled her feet, her small voice carrying an unexpected weight of understanding. “My mom says you’re lonely. And that Christmas is about making people feel loved. So I made this for you.”

Mr J felt a lump in his throat. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about how lonely he had been, how three Christmases had passed him by without warmth, without laughter. And here was this little girl, with a paper star, reminding him of something he thought he’d lost.

Before he could respond, a woman appeared from the corner of the street. “Lilia, there you are!” she called, rushing over. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said to Mr J, slightly out of breath, “I didn’t realize she’d wandered off so quickly. We’re your neighbours—just moved in a few weeks ago.”

Mr J smiled, still holding the star. “It’s no trouble at all. Lilia just gave me a gift I didn’t know I needed.”

The woman’s face softened as she glanced at her daughter. “She’s been asking to meet you ever since we heard you lived alone. She has a way of sensing when someone needs a little light in their life.”

Mr J nodded, feeling the weight of the last few Christmases lift ever so slightly. “She’s special,” he said, his voice warm. “Thank you, both of you. I’d love to have you over some time.”

The woman smiled. “We’d love that. And we’re right next door if you ever need anything. No one should be alone at Christmas.”

As they left, Mr J placed the paper star on his mantle, its imperfect shape shining more brightly than any store-bought decoration could. That night, as Mr J sat by the fire with his cats curled up by his side, he didn’t feel as alone. It wasn’t the Christmases of the past that filled his heart—it was the thought that maybe, just maybe, there was still warmth and love to be found.

Sometimes, a simple paper star, made with love and given with kindness, is enough to remind us that even when we feel alone, we’re never truly forgotten.

With a smile, Mr J glanced at the star, thinking of Lilia's bright eyes. "Well," he muttered to himself, chuckling softly, "I guess I won’t be turning into the Grinch this year after all." But deep down, he knew—if he ever did, it would only be to pull off a little Christmas mischief before sneaking in to bring joy to others, just like the Grinch's heartwarming twist.

I think it adds a perfect lighthearted touch!

This way, the "Grinch" moment lightens the mood at the very end, giving the story a nice, reflective, and humorous conclusion!

As of today, it's 99 days to Christmas.

God Bless Us All

Jacob M