Christmas morning. It was still dark outside. The children were all snug in their beds.

Their air mattresses and cots were scattered around the double-wide trailer, perched in each nook. A battalion of space heaters were humming.

Let’s call her Elizabeth. Elizabeth awoke early. She was smiling.

She was the oldest foster kid in the group home. At age 13, she was a veteran here. Her deep black hair was the color of coal. Her rosy cheeks, like candy apples.

She could hardly stand herself from the excitement. And it wasn’t because of the Christmas festivities ahead. Namely, because there weren’t any.

Usually, for Christmas, the kids all received one toy apiece. The toys came from a local charity who donated minorly broken or lightly used toys. Sometimes, the kids received donated coats and mittens. But that was about all.

The Christmas meal would be frozen lasagna and canned green beans, lovingly prepared by the Methodist church.

Elizabeth had prepared a surprise of her own this morning for her foster consociates.

She woke Peter first, quietly. The little boy opened his crusty eyes.

Elizabeth hushed him. “Ssssh! Don’t wake anyone else.”

She handed Peter a small package.

The package was wrapped in newspaper, with candy canes, hand drawn with magic marker.

Peter tore open the small box.

Inside was an old baseball, painted yellow and black with tempura paint. The ball had a little face, a wide open mouth, with a cute pink tongue.

“I know how much you love Pac-Man,” said Elizabeth. “So I made you Pac-Man.”

Peter gave her the biggest hug.

Next, Elizabeth awoke Helen and her brother, Danny. Helen received homemade clip-on earrings, made of twisted baling wire and dried candy corn. Danny received a handmade book of racecars which must have taken days to create.

Sarah was next. The sad, sullen girl who never said more than a few words. Her biological mother had abused her by pouring boiling water down her back when she was 3.

Elizabeth woke Sarah quietly, then handed her a box. Elizabeth tore at the paper furiously. Inside was a leash. It was homemade, from an old leather belt.

“It’s a leash,” said Elizabeth. “For when you finally get the puppy you’ve always wanted.”

Sarah’s small face erupted into a smile. Her eyes were bright and wet.

Next, she nudged Monica awake. She handed the child a small box, decoupaged in magazine pages, adorned with green yarn.

Monica opened the package, her little eyes ablaze. Inside was something made of cardboard, two-dimensional, constructed of glue and paper.

“It’s a house,” said Monica.

The cardboard house was complete with a big garage and picket fence, and little people standing outside, all smiling.

“I know how badly you want a home of your own someday. This can be your home until you find your real one.”

Hug.

Elizabeth gave many more gifts that morning. Many, many more. Every child received one.

Carolyn got a telephone, made of tin cans and string. Tyler received a deck of Go Fish playing cards, made from construction paper. Randy got a new “blankie,” cut from an old sweatshirt. Lydia got a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, hand-painted. Jonathan received mother-of-pearl-inlaid six-shooters, made from toilet paper tubes.

There was so much joy in the little ambulatory foster home, it was almost hard to breathe.

And so anyway, now you know why Elizabeth works for the Department of Protective and Family Services.