Christmas Eve in Panjim, Goa! The old churches were decorated with twinkling stars. Carol singers walked through the streets. The smell of bebinca and dodol filled the air.

Twelve-year-old Maria helped her mother decorate their Christmas tree with homemade ornaments. A paper angel on top. Strings of popcorn. A star made from coconut shells.

“Mãe, can I go to Midnight Mass with you tonight?” asked Maria.

“Of course, minha filha!” said Mãe (that’s ‘my daughter’ in Konkani-Portuguese).

On the way to church, Maria saw an old man sitting on a bench near the riverbank. He looked tired and hungry. A small bag sat beside him.

“Mãe, that man looks sad,” whispered Maria.

“We’re running late for Mass, Maria,” said Mãe.

But Maria couldn’t walk past. She approached the old man.

“Sir, are you okay? Merry Christmas!” she said.

The old man looked up with grateful eyes. “Thank you, child. I’m a traveller. I came to Goa for Christmas but I have nowhere to stay tonight.”

Maria looked at her mother. Mãe understood immediately.

“Come with us,” said Mãe. “Nobody should be alone on Christmas. You can stay at our house tonight.”

The old man’s eyes glistened with tears. “You are too kind.”

After Mass, they brought the old man home. Maria served him hot soup, bebinca, and tea. He ate gratefully.

“You know,” said the old man, “I have travelled to many places. But tonight, I found the true spirit of Christmas — not in a big church or fancy gifts, but in the kindness of a little girl and her mother.”

Maria smiled. This was the best Christmas ever — not because of the gifts under the tree, but because of the gift of compassion she had given a stranger.